Dracula
by lupinskitten
Summary: Written to supplement and continue the 1979 version starring Frank Langella, giving them a more romantic ending than the film. 25 chapters, complete, some sensuality and violence.
1. Chapter 1

This was lovingly written to fill in and continue the plot of the 1979 film starring Frank Langella. I did it out of love for the original and my desire to see the characters come to a proper and much more satisfying conclusion than the one in the movie. Elements from the Stoker novel, as well as the film's representation of characters, have been used. There are minor inconsistencies to the original but I have tried to remain as true as possible. Please ignore any minor faults, as it has not been properly betta'd.

For most of the night, the ship had been tossed on one wave after the other. The first mate, a God-fearing man by all accounts, crossed himself more than once and uttered that they faced certain disaster, as there was a vile demon aboard. The captain was not prone to believing such things, for he had long ago cast aside the mantle of religion as superstition, but even he could not deny that on such a night, with no moon and macabre clouds filled with bleak intentions, it was possible that all form of ghoul and goblin might exist, so he gave no protest when it was suggested prayers be said below decks.

Ever since departing from Romania, the ship had suffered one scourge after another, beginning with the odd behavior of the cabin boy. He was a smart lad, intelligent beyond measure and often found with a book when not occupied with the captain's orders. More than once he'd had his ears boxed for not attending his duties and then sent on his way. Their first day at sea he was perfectly sane and in possession of all his faculties. By the next night, he was pale and dazed, his enormous brown eyes displaying unusual dullness. The third day he vanished entirely and though the ship was searched top to bottom, nothing was found of him save his book, wrapped in a cloth beneath his pillow, and the crucifix his mother had bestowed on him before he went to sea. "Strange," the captain had remarked, and all assumed the poor lad had gone overboard.

It had proven to be merely the first in a disconcerting sequence of events, ranging from the sight of a mysterious figure on deck beneath the full moon to incoherency among the crew. After that, the captain was forced to admit the possibility of a ghost among them, for they carried no passengers. The only cargo was a dozen heavy wooden boxes but although ears were pressed against them, nothing was ever heard from the interior. Determined not to be thought superstitious, the captain wrote off these incidents as paranoia brought on by too much rum and insisted no more be said on the matter.

Then his second mate went missing, not two days' journey from England.

"How am I to run a ship with the bloody crew vanishing?" he roared.

The first mate chewed on his lip and looked, as always, disconcerted. He took to carrying around a crucifix and reciting the rosary to anyone who would listen. No one owned up to whose idea it was to gather the night of the storm but the agreement among the crew was that dark forces were afoot. The wind was beating their sails and waves were crashing over the bow, but still the captain would not change course.

"I've had enough of this damned nonsense! By tomorrow morning, we'll be in port!"

"There must be a Jonah among us," they muttered, pagan superstition running rampant to the very end, and someone suggested a search of the hold. Lanterns swinging wildly and eyes aglow with the fear of haunted men, the captain let them have their way, and down they went. Flickering golden shadows cast into darkened corners, staggering with each toss and swell of the sea. It was then a hand was laid on the largest crate and a sailor shouted that he felt a pulse beneath it. Burly and slender, terrified and enthusiastic, all crowded round, rested hands on the worn wood, and agreed. Drunken with their discovery, they traipsed up on deck, where the storm had worsened, and beneath the frantic, whipping sails, shouted that the crate must be thrown overboard. The captain, concerned they might mutiny if he refused, gave his consent and there was a good deal of tramping feet and curses as lengths of rope were fixed around the crate. The storm and the state of the crew lent a crackle of intensity to the air, fueled with rain and wind, and even the rats below decks were ill at ease, squealing as the crate was winched up into the air by one end and forced through the hatch. In their terrified enthusiasm, hands slipped and it banged against the edge, eliciting a horrific sound from within that it set their hair on edge. It was not so much a growl as a snarl, but not anything like human or beast that they had before heard.

"Throw the damned thing overboard!" shouted the captain, for the first time believing in ghouls, and the crate was eased onto the deck and pushed to the railing. The most able among them forced it upright but as it came to rest precariously on the edge, they realized its occupant was trying terribly to get out. Ferocious cracks came from the wood as it splintered were nearly lost in the thunder pounding through the heavens; the seams split and the nearest man came to a swift end as his throat was ripped out. His body was hurled carelessly to the deck, his blood spreading in a crimson tide through the planking as the creature set upon them all. It was a great black wolf, its eyes glowing in the swinging lanterns that clung to the mast. The first mate went down with unholy screams, his crucifix tumbling to the deck and sliding to a halt at the captain's feet. Though not a religious man, he wound the rosary around one hand and with the other, lashed his body to the wheel. Waves crashed over the side, drenching him as he stood his ground, attempting defiantly to steer them toward the shoreline. Distantly, he could see a faint pinprick of light, its beam shining out across the water.

The last thing the captain saw was wide open jaws and gleaming canine teeth before the creature tore his life from him, leaving him limp and hanging from the helm.


	2. Chapter 2

There was nothing Dr. Seward hated worse than storms. It was not because their beauty was so unnatural, or even that they gave him dreadful migraines, but rather that they upset the patients in his sanitarium. For over thirty years he had maintained the asylum and in that amount of time had faced many storms, enduring screaming and wailing, the tension in the air setting off even the most complacent inhabitants. The handful of staff he had managed to keep over the years did their best to calm them, forcing some into strait jackets and locking up others, but most ran wild, moaning, banging fists against their foreheads, and hiding in darkened corners. Panic settled into the lower quarters, for tonight it seemed worse than usual. The wind tearing across the cliffs from the sea was bitter and even he felt a distinct impression of forthcoming doom. It was having an abnormal effect on the patients, causing pandemonium far beyond their control. Exhausted and at the end of his nerves, the doctor rushed from one room to the next, shouting down to his chief assistant, "Swales, for God sakes, give these poor wretches some laudanum to calm their shattered nerves!"

Struggling to drag their most problematic patient into his room and receiving ferocious bites on the arm for his efforts, Swales shouted back, "They won't take nothing, Dr. Seward!" He had spent the better part of the last two hours trying to force medicine down unwilling throats. The patients spit it up again or kicked the bottle out of his hand, screaming bloody murder until he let them alone. The only sensible one was Annie, half out of her wits and clutching her child against her breast as if afraid the storm would take her away. One of their milder patients, Annie had been deposited there by the authorities who had found her wandering the local streets. "_I don't care what you do with her_," the constable had said, "_just keep her out of Whitby!"_

Forcing the patient down onto the miserable cot in his meager cell, Swales slammed the door. Annie was running along the upper passage and came to a halt against the railing, crying down plaintively, "Where is Miss Lucy?" She trusted no one but the doctor's daughter, like her mother in that she was able to calm the most hysterical souls with the quietest attention. The baby streamed in Annie's arms as she jostled it, the small red face so contorted its eyes vanished beneath a wreath of wrinkles. The din created by the confusion was magnificent, almost overwhelming the storm as the patients went mad, shaking their heads and running about with bags over their heads. Seward had never seen them like this before. Something more than the storm was driving them mad.

"Swales!" roared the doctor. He was not accustomed to dealing with such chaos. The nearest patient was banging his head against the staircase railing and the doctor pulled him free. Another bolt of lightning tore across the skies, the rain whipping against the side of the building and creating a mournful sound. Dr. Seward's plump round face was a mask of panic as he demanded something be done, only to have Swales reply that there was nothing _to_ be done but wait out the storm.

Annie shuddered as another thunderclap echoed through the asylum, clinging to the tiny figure in her arms. "Where's Miss Lucy?" she demanded again, as near to hysterics as he had ever seen her. "Where's Miss Lucy to help with my baby?"

Her plaintive cries did not go unnoticed as Dr. Seward ran up the stairs, his keys jingling at his waistband. Normally, his daughter would have already been at work among them but ever since the arrival of her friend from abroad, she had been distracted. Mina was frail and demanded a good deal of attention but was as sweet as to not want it and that made everyone dote on her all the more. In many respects it was a relief to have her there, as Lucy was less melancholy with her friend at her side. His daughter took after her mother not only in appearance but also in the compassion she held for all living creatures, from the smallest butterfly to the most tortured soul. Only the previous day he had seen them walking along the cliffs, arm in arm, and Lucy had come across a dead bird on the path. Mina had uttered, "Poor thing," but it was his daughter who had removed her handkerchief, wrapped it around the fragile body, and carried it into the garden, where a little plot was dug. He had found it peculiar at the time but now such trivialities were erased from his memory. Lucy was the only one who might calm the inhabitants of the sanitarium, her presence having soothed the patients in the past. They loved her unconditionally and completely, trusting she would never hurt them.

Reaching the head of the stairs, he asked, "Mrs. Callaway, where is my daughter?"

The housekeeper had seen the girls vanish into their room shortly after dinner, gathering about the hearth to read letters aloud to one another. A packet of them had come that morning from London, securing Lucy's undivided interest. Mrs. Callaway had gotten only a brief look at the return address before they were swept off the little tray on the sideboard and carried away. "She's upstairs in the house, sir, looking after that friend of hers."

Rubbing anxious fingers over the prominent bald spot on the top of his head, the doctor uttered, "Fine time to abandon us!" It was not so much an admonishment as concern and without regard for the companion that had become as much a part of the household as his own child, he sent the housekeeper to fetch her at once.

The view from Lucy's bedroom was magnificent, overlooking the rocky cliffs and glow of the lighthouse as it shone out to sea. Many a lost sailor had been saved by it on nights as dismal as this and its presence comforted those in the house. "I do hope there are no ships out in this storm," Mina remarked, her fingers pressed against the glass. She was such a small creature that she could barely see out, her beautiful brown hair hanging in loose ringlets over her shoulders. There was not much color to her face, which was remarkable for its innocence; Lucy often thought she resembled a fairy queen from a book of mythical tales, as if the slightest hint of light would cause her to evaporate.

"Mina, come away from the draft," her companion said, in such a rich, magnificent voice that she could not disobey. It was warmer near the fire and she knew Lucy was concerned for her health. Since their school days, it had begun to deteriorate, following the same pattern of sensitivity that had taken her mother in Mina's childhood. The doctors believed it was hereditary but said she might live a good long while if she was considerate of her limitations. As much as she attempted to keep up with her friend, Mina was frequently wearied by the simplest of tasks. Only moments after she had disembarked from the ship that had borne her across the channel, Lucy had kissed her on the cheek and promised, "We shall make you well again by summertime!"

Lucy's room was very pleasant and she insisted on sharing it with Mina, who suspected it was in case she needed anything during the night, but pretended to believe Lucy's explanation that it was the warmest in the house. Picking up her sampler, painstakingly worked on over the past several weeks without much progress, Mina settled onto the settee and stretched her feet toward the fireplace. She loved the snap and crackle of the flames as they leapt up the chimney, eating patiently away at the hot coals. Lucy was at her feet, curled on the floor with letters scattered around her.

"Do go on and read the rest of Jonathan's letter," Mina encouraged, sorry to have interrupted it. The beauty of the storm and an emotion she could not explain had drawn her to the window. But it was gone again, strange as it had been—as if there was a string about her waist and someone had tugged on it. The movement had been involuntary, made without her consent, and completely irresistible until she felt cold glass beneath her fingertips, straining her eyes to peer into the darkness.

Running her eye over Jonathan's bold script, Lucy searched for where she had left off. His letters were enthusiastic but hardly romantic, for he was not one to engage in flowery words or lengthy conversation. He was not impetuous by nature and had it not been for a visit to London a few months before, they might have never met. He had seen her at the opera and insisted on being introduced by a mutual acquaintance. There was an element to him she liked, perhaps his boldness of thought, as he was not as old-fashioned as most of the men who tried to win her approval. They could not comprehend her modern ideals, her belief that women were as capable as men in every respect. Her father had become so concerned by her progressive notions that he had sent for her, removing her from London and Jonathan's side. It had not taken him long to appear on their doorstep, having conveniently arranged to oversee most of the legal transactions in the surrounding territories. His last case had been unpleasant, a seizure of the property nearest their borders. Carfax Abbey had once been a place of high repute but had fallen into disrepair after the death of its owner. The building had been left to the caretaker, Renfield, who had neglected to pay taxes on it; as a result, local authorities had been forced to foreclose on the estate. Jonathan rarely made it to the sanitarium without being accosted by the man, whose unruly appearance and fierce dark eyes had many convinced he was out of his mind. Attempts to have him committed had henceforth proved in vain but reduced his assaults to spitting in the general direction of Jonathan's automobile whenever it passed through town. There was nothing to be done about that, and with relief, local authorities let him alone.

It had been several months since she had seen Jonathan and Lucy was very pleased to learn he would come to Whitby. "_I should arrive tomorrow_," she read aloud from the second page of his missive, "_as our European client is shortly to be among us. You may be interested to learn he has purchased Carfax Abbey. I do not know much of him beyond that he is Romanian and wishes to improve his associations with England_."

"I wonder what he is like," Mina remarked. Pricking her finger for the umpteenth time on her sewing needle, she slipped it into her mouth.

Her friend looked up. There was a world of imagination in her eyes, filled with everything she had read about Romania. Not much could be said for it apart from local superstition and folklore but once she had seen it on a map of Europe in a museum and remarked on how peculiar it appeared, "_such a little country with no distinguishing attributes_." She could not fathom what kind of man the culture would produce in such a place, and Jonathan's letter indicated he had not met the Count, most of the necessary paperwork conducted by a colleague overseas. "No doubt he is abominably dismal and a good deal older than we would like," she concluded after serious thought. "I hope he will befriend Father. I worry about him, with no one to talk to other than Swales." Her dark hair glowed in the firelight and she became quiet, remembering that once her mother had been there to converse with him.

Mina dropped her sewing into her lap and regarded her at length, casting about for something to cheer her up. "Perhaps he will be young and charming and steal you away from Jonathan," she offered wickedly.

"If he is young and charming, my dear Mina, he must be yours, for you are a good deal better than I am!" Lucy reached forward and enveloped her friend's hand in hers, the warmth of her affection revealed in her dancing eyes. "At any rate, I shall not marry until after I finish law school and that won't be for years yet." Although such an education was frowned on in most social circles, Lucy had persistently made inquiries and found a school in Wales that would accept her admission. Mina could not imagine being so brave and admired Lucy all the more for it.

Watching as her companion dropped a log onto the fire, Mina inquired, "Your father has agreed?"

"Reluctantly. He cannot expect me to run the sanitarium, particularly after Jonathan and I are married." Lucy could not fathom such a thing. They were affectionate enough but she wondered if that was all there was to love, if mutual interest and similar pursuits were enough to make her content. She would have never admitted it to Mina but in many respects the thought of marrying Jonathan was unpleasant. He was not quite what she wanted and it made her wonder if she was meant to be alone. Her face must have shown her doubts for Mina reached out and touched her arm comfortingly. "Never mind me, Mina," Lucy said. "This storm is putting me in a singular mood."

"It is frightful," her friend agreed, watching the rain pound against the glass. Again she had the urge to rise and go to the window, as if someone was calling to her, a voice on the wind. It was a plaintive cry, almost human, a suffering soul lost in the night. Mina shivered and edged nearer the fire as her friend continued to read aloud.

" '… _some of the partners are slightly more reluctant but I have assured them you are nothing if not proficient, and they would be simpletons not to let you in. Anyway, you needn't worry. As soon as you finish law school, I am sure our firm will hire you in a second! You will make a beautiful addition to the firm of Snodgrass, Shilling, and Wollop!_'"

From her perch, Mina let out a little note of encouragement, her face brightening in the firelight. She was far more capable at other things than needlework and often sat in the verandah and drew for hours in the afternoon, capturing places and people with uncanny precision. It was because of her father that she attempted to sew, for Mina desired to make him proud. She tackled piano lessons with the same enthusiasm, determined to become a proper young woman.

The storm's persistent tugging at the latch threw open the verandah door, sending gusts of cold rain into the room. Mina threw up her hand, feeling the bitter bite of the wind as her friend hastened to shut it. For a moment Lucy beheld a shadow in the darkness beyond the swinging lamp of the lighthouse. It was gone again swiftly and she shut the door securely. Her fingers were cold against the handle as she heard Mina demand, "Is it all right?"

"Yes." Though something compelled her to remain at the window, Lucy turned into the room and found Mina watching her perceptively. She knelt to pick up the scattered letters, finding one had blown dangerously near the fire. The edges were singed and she took a moment to smooth it out on the hearth.

"You know, Lucy, you're so much braver than I am, taking on all those men like that."

Poor little Mina, who could not look a man straight in the eye much less contradict him; this attribute would make her a charming wife, so long as the man was not too demanding or took advantage of her sweet nature. Lucy was a possessive guardian, standing watch over her with such a formidable presence that she put men ill at ease. Lucy loathed most of them, abhorring their forced politeness and condescending attitudes.

"But don't you think we ought to have some influence, some say on things?" Lucy asked. "After all—"

Having heard this many times, Mina playfully lowered her voice and quoted with her, "We are not chattel!" She gave a delighted giggle and agreed, "No, I know we're not." Still, she would never have had the courage to defy convention the way Lucy did.

The door behind them opened and the housekeeper peered in, her features revealing frustration. It let in some of the cries echoing down the hall from the locked ward, mournful against the howl and thrust of the storm. "Lucy, your father says he needs you in the wards right away."

"Yes, I'm coming." Lucy had meant to go sooner but Mina was so listless that evening she loathed to leave her alone even for a few hours. The same thought crossed her companion's mind, for Mina uttered piteously, "Oh, do you have to go _now_, Lucy?" She did not want to remain in the room without her, particularly in the midst of such a frightful gale. The wind rattled the windows and it sounded as if they might shatter at any moment.

Lucy tucked the letters into a box on the mantle where she kept most of Jonathan's correspondence and helped Mina into bed. Tucking the blanket around her and fluffing the pillows she admonished, "Now remember, Mina, if you don't rest, you'll be stuck in this bedroom all winter." Her fingers lingered at the side of her friend's face, warm against the paleness of her skin. She was so delicate they did not quite know what to do with her, something that caused her father no end of emotional distress.

"Yes, you're quite right." Mina smiled and rested against the softness of the pillow. She loved climbing into bed and feeling the chill of the sheets. There were no corsets at night to hamper her, nothing making it difficult to breathe; only the pleasant drowsiness that came upon her just before sleep, in which she had some of her most wonderful thoughts. Tonight she wondered what they would be, if they might be influenced by the storm. It comforted her to know others were near if she needed them, that Lucy would return in an hour and slip in beside her, trying hard not to wake her. "You go down to them," she encouraged. "I'll be fine."

Leaning down to kiss her on the cheek, Lucy said good night and vanished into the hall. The door closed softly behind her and Mina reached for the picture of her father on the side table. Her fingertips traced the glass covering his face, worn with years of worry and the harshness of life, tickled by the sensation of curved silver around the edges. Wishing him goodnight without a word, she lowered the lamp wick and slid beneath the covers.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a most dreadful business, running a Sanitarium, and most considered the towering manor on the hill overlooking the quiet town of Whitby to be an inconvenience, an embarrassment, a means of dissuading Londoners from venturing into their quiet existence. Dr. Seward was not well respected for his medical abilities, which had waned since he had taken over the institution. It was much too difficult to continue to study recent medical journals and attempt to keep a hundred or so insane patients in hand, so he was behind his peers when it came to medical advancements. Seward was not an overly patient man, nor did much of anything seem to bother him apart from chaos in the midst of a storm. This one had come up unexpectedly, appearing in the skies over the channel in the late afternoon and rapidly transforming into a foul wind.

Overwhelmed, he was relieved when his daughter's complacent face appeared in the midst of the flickering lights. There was no one the patients were fonder of, for she catered to their whims and soothed their fears, but he could not help launching a complaint as she hurried after him. "Lucy, we've got our work cut out for us." He dodged the nearest inmate, who wandered past staring into the great heights of the house, and started down the wrought iron staircase with his daughter trailing on his heels, a vision in white lace.

Tolerance was one of her many virtues and Lucy was accustomed to her father's brash statements. "I'm sorry, Poppa, but Mina isn't feeling at all well tonight." The railing glided beneath her fingertips, cold to the touch as she came to the landing. She could see Annie pushing her way through the crowd toward them bearing a bundle in her arms. The baby's cries were lost in the frenzy of the storm.

"I know she's our friend," her father shouted, "but really, Mina's _never_ feeling very well!"

It was not that he disliked Mina so much as that she was too much of a distraction for his daughter. He hoped her presence in the house would convince Lucy she did not need to attend law school, but having her around only seemed to embolden Lucy's determination. Mina made no attempts to calm Lucy's wild and impetuous nature. It might have been better had she stayed away.

Lucy looked at him rather crossly and said, "Now Father, that's not fair. We invited her for her health and we have to look after her!"

She turned to Annie as the woman came forward, babbling incoherently about her child, and removed the baby from her arms. It was soft and warm, its red face wrinkled into an everlasting howl. Why no one had taken the babe permanently away from her mother remained a mystery, but Annie would put up such a fuss when she did not have her infant that they had conceded that she was not a bad mother, however mad, and it was easiest just to let her be. Drawing the bundle against her chest, Lucy crooned, "Oh, it _can't _be as bad as that!"

Against the thunder and lightning that assailed the coast was a distinct, shrill sound, a warning to the ships lost at sea. Annie started screaming about bells and Swales muttered something about sunken ships, but Lucy said it was nothing and went back to rocking the child. There was a window down the hall, barred to prevent any fool from attempting to throw themselves out of it, and she approached it, little knowing that Mina repeated the gesture in their room, her wide eyes staring into the gloom.

The cause of the disturbance was not visible at first but then amidst the rain running down the cold glass in front of her she could make out the helm of a ship as it crashed into the rocks. She pressed her hands against the glass, longing to see more than the haze would allow. The froth of the waves and the ghostly appearance of the ship were surreal. It was calling to her, a primal instinct that began in her soul and flowed into her blood, an intense response to a cry not comprehended by human senses. No longer able to deny her urge, Mina turned and fled down the poorly lit corridors, calling out for Dr. Seward. "Lucy?" she whispered plaintively in the lower hall, but there was no answer. Everyone was in the east wing with the patients.

Lightening illuminated the corridor, casting her eerie reflection in the nearest mirror; she was pale, hair wild, eyes burning with fascination as she heard it, a whisper so deep and sensuous in her mind that it could not be resisted. Had she more common sense she would have gone into the ward in search of companions but the sanitarium frightened her. Her first night there she had encountered one of the madmen on the stairs and his glassy stare had caused a lapse of illness. Caressing the knob of the front door, Mina thought of the storm outside and hesitated but such desire came over her that she pulled it open and ran out into the rain. Her white nightgown trailed behind her, fluttering among the tombstones as she hastened through the cemetery toward the path that led down the rocky cliffs onto the beach. The ground was muddy and she slipped, cutting her fingers on the sharp rocks but not quite losing her balance. She could see the outline of the sail in the gloom, the wind whipping its torn length and sending the bow crashing into the reef.

The sound of splintering wood was nearly lost in the rage of the storm as Mina paused to observe. She drew in great gasping breaths, flooding her lungs with the cold, salty taste of the sea. Fear took hold of her as she saw in the darkness on the deck of the schooner a massive, looming shape that transformed into a wolf. Its eyes penetrated her with such intensity she could not move as it leapt into the sea and swam to shore. The enormous, shaggy head turned toward her and again she saw its eyes, but instead of fear this time she experienced curiosity. Leaving paw prints in the sand, the wolf ran into the looming caverns she had explored with Lucy in their younger years. One summer had been spent here before Mrs. Seward's death and the girls had entertained no end of adventures in the caves, from being kidnapped by evil pirates to finding buried treasure. It felt different to her now as she entered them, a force driving her that she could not explain.

An eerie haze filled the caverns and she slowed as she found the wolf in the shadows. It did not move and at first she thought it dead but then realized it was not a wolf at all, but a coat trimmed in fur, covering the long contours of a man. Her slippers slick on the rocks, unaware of the resulting pain to her tender feet, Mina stepped over the unconscious form and knelt by his side. His face remained in the shadows and she reached out to touch him but could not. Her hand hovered above his shoulder and floated down to where his angular fingers rested. The ground was cold but even more shocking was his hand as it closed over hers, the fingers moving with slow grace and poise. A chill passed over her and was replaced by gratifying warmth as he looked up at her. Never before had she seen such a man, so exquisitely handsome he took her breath away. His complexion was dark with flowing waves of thick black hair falling into a pair of such penetrating brown eyes that she feared she might drown in them. Long lashes fell, removing her from the strength of his gaze and his hand relaxed around hers. Mina felt a rush of panic as she realized he was unconscious once more. She touched the side of his face hesitantly and looked up as voices and echoing footsteps rippled through the cavern. Lucy had seen her from the window of the sanitarium and came at a run, Swales on her heels.

"Mina!" The chastisement halted on Lucy's lips as she caught sight of the man resting at her feet. Lifting the lantern higher, she allowed the light to play across his pale features and the fur rippling around him.

Though Mina was reluctant to leave him, she went to Lucy's side and pressed against her, welcoming the warmth of the lantern as she realized how cold she was. "I found him here," she whispered, but was strangely unable to remember what she had seen. "There was a … a great black dog…"

More lanterns were flickering behind them, falling into the caves as the townspeople came to the rescue of the poor souls on board the ship. This was the only survivor to wash up on shore. He came around with faces leaning over him, the girls in the background. Lucy wrapped a coat around Mina that she had torn from the closet on her way out of the asylum but could not remove her attention from the stranger as he rose to his feet. The murmur of his voice came to them but they could not hear all he said.

"Someone should send for Dr. Seward," said a voice in the crowd.

He had no desire to be fussed over and examined, reaching out a hand and saying in a voice so rich and warm it caused a tremor to pass through all the women present, "I am quite all right. One learns in Romania not to not bother with trifles. Ah, I see my manservant has come to take me to Carfax." He indicated the short figure of Renfield standing at a slight distance and moved through their ranks with such elegance they turned in awe to watch him. Though he did not approach the women, he looked toward them for a lingering instant before passing out into the storm, Renfield hurrying to keep up with his magnificent stride.

"He is the most handsome man I have ever seen," Mina whispered.

There was indeed something powerful about him, a presence unequaled by any of the men she had ever known. Lucy had encountered many in her time but had never been drawn so strongly to a complete stranger. It frightened and disarmed her, causing anger to rise in her soul for the weakness of her will_. _She must think of Jonathan. Placing her arm around Mina, with less force than she had hoped to muster, Lucy said, "Let us go in."

In the darkness, the path seemed more lonely and treacherous now, the house looming against grim skies as the storm lessened its fury. Mina was oblivious to the chill in her bones until she reached their room and the fireside. Leaving her coat on a nearby chair, she shivered and approached the hearth, staring into the flames. All she could see in them was his gaze, so wondrous and penetrating that she felt he had seen into her soul. Her fingers tightened and pressed against her heart, lost in the swirling memory of his presence until Lucy said, "Oh, you have cut yourself!"

Looking down in surprise, Mina found a ribbon of blood coating her fingertips. "I did not even feel it," she said. Flames crackled behind her, shifting as the coal settled in the grate. She held out her hand to Lucy, who dampened a cloth in the washbasin and carefully wiped away the blood. The cuts were not deep and no longer bled when she had cleaned them.

"You are too tenderhearted, Mina," she gently admonished. "You may catch pneumonia because of this. Did you see him on the beach? Is that why you left the house?"

Mina touched her throat, groping for the simple golden cross that normally hung there, but she had removed it before bed and felt nothing but damp lace. "I must have known he was there," she reasoned, her voice filled with doubt. She could not explain what had driven her to leave the house or why she had not been frightened in the rage of the storm. Rising from the floor onto her knees, she clutched desperately at her friend's hand. "I did see him, didn't I, Lucy?" she pleaded. Surely it was not the madness returning, the endless nights of her childhood in which she had walked in her sleep. Her father had found her in the den, the study, even in the front hall pulling at the latch in an effort to get out. It had scared him enough to put servants to watching her in the event she came to harm.

"I am sure you did, and he is fortunate, for he might have drowned in those caves." Lucy assisted Mina out of her wet things into another nightgown. Mina crawled into bed and turned her head into the pillow. Her companion lowered the lamps but did not immediately join her, kneeling on the hearth to stir the flames. It felt strangely cold to her, overwhelmed with the memory of what they had found in the caverns. She looked soberly at the box on the mantle that held Jonathan's letters and reached up for it. Holding his correspondence, she pressed it against her heart. It was Jonathan she should be thinking of, whose return would be heralded with such happiness, who promised to assist her in fulfilling her dreams. Lucy looked toward Mina and knew she did not sleep, that behind closed eyes her mind was working frantically at the details of recent hours, for she too was curious about the newcomer in their midst. Mina _should _earn the interest of the Count, for she had the most need of it. So why did Lucy feel the slightest hint of jealousy? It was an emotion unfamiliar to her, one that never invaded her relationship with Jonathan. Their affection was passionate and deep, a love she felt certain would grow with experience and time. Everyone spoke highly of the match and believed them equals, but there was no excitement with Jonathan, nothing alluring or mysterious. He demanded nothing from her but kisses: playful, lingering kisses rather than conversation, as if he would much rather her lips were on his than engaged in revealing the nature of her thoughts.

She looked down at the letter, reading his striking penmanship in the firelight, and rebelled against his flattery. She held it toward the flames, halting as confusion overtook her. Something in her wanted her to burn it, to drop it onto the fire and watch it curl into ash, but she could not. Returning it to the decorative box on the mantle, Lucy drew her dressing gown closer about her shoulders and returned to the sanitarium. Working helped her focus, to not think as much about the eerie ship broken up against the rocks or the strange man that had awoken such an unusual desire within her soul.


	4. Chapter 4

There had not been a wreck on the shores of Whitby for nearly eighty years and this brought out the townspeople in full force as soon as light began to break over the sea. During the night the storm waned and morning revealed a ship lodged against the rocks. Wreckage was strewn for miles and when Lucy ventured out she saw netting and horse-drawn carts preparing to be of use, held in the hands of formidable workers and townspeople. It was windy and as she stood on the cliffs overhead, her hair rippled around her magnificent features. Hugging her shawl closer, Lucy returned to the house, blissfully quiet in the early hours. The mental patients had calmed and were either still asleep or going about their normal activities, carefully chaperoned by their handlers. The door to the morning room was open and she entered, finding breakfast on the sideboard. She smelled the fragrant food, her stomach rumbling as she remembered how little she had eaten the night before. She lowered the tongs as her father came in, squinting behind his round spectacles.

"Good morning," he said, heading straight for the sideboard. His love of good food was more than evident in the plumpness of his figure, and now that her mother was gone there was no one to chastise his eating habits. Lucy stood back as he loaded his plate with scrambled eggs, hash browns, and bacon, glancing out the windows toward the movement on the beach below.

"Do you suppose the Count is all right?" she inquired, disconcerted by the memories of his ashen countenance. He had astonishing eyes. She remembered them well, glittering eerily in the lantern light.

Dr. Seward looked at her, as if not quite certain of whom she spoke, then remembered their excitement when they had come in out of the storm. He had scolded them harshly and been curious about the report from the caves, fascinated to know there was only one survivor. Sliding his plate onto the table, he tucked a napkin at his throat and sat down. "I'm sure I would have been sent for if anything was amiss. He lived through a storm that killed all his companions, or so it seems. He must have a strong constitution indeed!"

"Yes," murmured Lucy, parting the draperies and peering at the shoreline. Her fingers tightened until she realized she was wrinkling her mother's priceless European lace and relinquished her hold. Her father encouraged her to come and eat, and it was not long before Mina appeared, color in her cheeks and excitement in her eyes. It was rare she was so happy, and Lucy was glad to see her spirits high as she sat down at the table. Mina was used to being waited on and as her friend filled a plate for her, asked, "May we go down to the beach this morning?"

"I don't—" Lucy began, but her father intervened sharply, "Absolutely not. The riffraff of the town will be down there cleaning up the wreckage. It's not safe." He saw her face fall and with more gentleness added, "You may go down this afternoon when the worst of it has been carted away, if it pleases you."

The slightest hint of irritation came into Mina's eyes, turning them a color Lucy had never seen before, and she picked at her food, mostly interested in inquiring as to what they thought had happened. When Dr. Seward left them to gather his things and accompany the constable that came to fetch him down to the beach, Lucy glanced across the table and said, "Your interest in the wreck wouldn't have anything to do with its only survivor, would it?"

Lowering her eyes modestly and blushing to the roots of her hair as she pushed the food around her plate with her fork, Mina replied, "You cannot tell me you do not understand why." Warmth crept into her delicate features. She looked like a china doll in her prim white and blue garment. Lucy had never seen Mina take to anyone like she had the Count, and it made the events of the previous evening and her own feelings for him feel shameful. Mina had so few pleasures in life that she deserved this one, and Lucy would do nothing to take it away from her. Hearing her father's voice in the hall, Lucy rose from the table and went after him.

"Father," she said as he pulled on his coat, "inquire as to how our new neighbor is doing and invite him to dinner. We cannot allow his introduction to our fair shores to be in the form of a ship lost in a storm." She turned out her father's collar and his face beamed at the notion, for the entire town would be curious about the newcomer. To be the first to invite him for an evening's entertainment would be an indication of status and like his daughter he was curious about the man who had arrived in the midst of howling wind and thrashing rain. Promising to do so, Dr. Seward clamped on his hat and went out to the waiting cart.

Lucy had no more than closed the front door behind him before Mina ran to her, clasping her friend's hands in hers. "Oh, Lucy, you are too good to me!" she cried, excitement running through her with such force it caused her to tremble. "Do you think he truly will come?"

"There is no reason he wouldn't," Lucy assured her. She felt a twinge of conscience, wondering if she had truly done it out of sisterly love for Mina or if she wanted another opportunity to be caught up in the midst of those eyes.

Whitby was not one of Jonathan Harker's favorite places, as it was a good deal quieter than London and life moved at a far more languid pace than he liked. He had been with Snodgrass, Shilling, & Wollop for two years, working first among their clerks and slowly moving into a position of authority. It pleased him to be entrusted with such an important client as Count Dracula, whose foreign nature promised esteem among his colleagues. They had glowing reports of him from their abroad solicitor, who praised the Count with all the adoration of a schoolboy in awe of a legendary discoverer. Jonathan thought as he drove along the coast that it was strange the solicitor had vanished since, but then they knew nothing of his personal life. He did not hear of the shipwreck until reaching the hotel in town, where with a sinking heart he listened to the details of the storm. For one ghastly moment, Jonathan feared the Count was dead but salvation came in the news of a single survivor, a foreigner delivered to Carfax Abbey in the late hours. Jonathan threw himself into the car and drove to the coast, knowing he would be wanted at the wreck to assist in the identification of the Count's belongings.

Rubbing exhaustion from his eyes, Jonathan turned down the road to the beach. The masses attempting to clear the wreckage moved out of his way as he honked at them, the automobile granting a feeble and irritating bleep as it spit up sand beneath the turning wheels. Fragments of conversation drifted to him on the wind.

"That's it, a bit more… come on, you two, get your hands out of your pockets!"

"No, no, no. Tell them women to get out of the way if they're not helping!"

A crusty old man giving orders stepped aside as Jonathan approached, drawing the attention of several young ladies standing on the sidelines; there was nothing more exciting to gawk at than the remnants of a once-proud vessel half-buried in the sand, the waves crashing against her hull and carnage spread across the deck. Jonathan strode up the makeshift gangplank and an officer stepped in his path, attending to his job as the local inspector had told him to. "Sorry," he barked, "no one allowed on board." He viewed the tallish man before him expressionlessly, finding him rather plain in appearance and lacking a certain sobriety that would have suited such a grim situation.

"I've got business on board." Jonathan could see shapes moving about on deck, passing to and fro with boxes and covered stretchers, no doubt bearing the bodies of the lost onto the beach. Or at least, what _remained _of them, for there was a good deal of blood spattered across the mast.

"What sort of business?"

Straightening up, Jonathan said importantly, "I'm a solicitor, Jonathan Harker, and I've been on the road all night from London. My client was on this ship. You must let me pass!"

His frustration was witnessed by the portly form of his future father-in-law, who made his way across the deck toward them. He told the policeman it was all right and the man let him pass reluctantly, keeping an eye on him as he stepped onto the solid wooden planking and looked about. The remains were ghastly and he could not imagine the horrors suffered by the crew as they faced a devastating storm. It had swept up the channel and fallen upon the southern coast, sending gusts of wind and rain as far as London.

"What the devil are you doing here?" Dr. Seward demanded, surprised to see Jonathan again so soon. He was not expected for another fortnight and the physician felt a twinge of conscience at wishing he would go away again, for as happy as he was that his daughter was to be married, he could not help wanting her to remain at home for a bit longer. None of his inner turmoil surfaced in his voice.

Preoccupied enough not to notice the inferred insult, Jonathan answered, "Our firm was telegraphed yesterday that the ship had been sighted a week early. The man we represented in the purchase of Carfax Abbey, Count Dracula…"

The good doctor cried out, "Count Dracula, of course! How stupid of me, I almost forgot!" Seward had seen many things over the years, from murderous intentions to the revolting accidents, from death and destruction to loss of limb, but nothing had prepared him for this. It was so ghastly he was fascinated as much as repulsed by the sheer horror of it, and had quite mislaid his daughter's request.

"Is he safe?"

Seward looked at his companion blankly, attempting to remember the topic of conversation. "In all this confusion, I—_who_?"

Revealing a hint of his bad temper, Jonathan snapped, "Dracula!" He was mostly fond of the doctor but there were times the older man trod heavily on his nerves. It was not so much dislike as irritation, for they were a breed apart. One was dedicated to his sanitarium, and the other had higher ambitions.

"Oh, yes; he's the only one who is," Seward said, catching on with a slight flush in his pudgy features. "Young Mina found him on the beach last night and we took him to Carfax. As for the rest of the crew…"

No words could describe it and instead of attempting to, the doctor indicated the sailor lashed to the helm. His throat was torn open, a dreadful look of sheer terror on his distorted features. Clasped in his hand was a silver crucifix swinging slightly in the breeze. Jonathan felt his lungs constrict and nearly tasted his breakfast again. "Good God," he uttered, so low the others did not catch it. "What _happened_?" It reminded him of a serial novel, a penny dreadful he would have relished as a child, but when confronted with it in real life, he found it ghastly.

"We don't know. Maybe the ship's log will tell us."

What few boxes remained in the hold was being unloaded and most of them were stamped with the insignia he had seen on the Count's paperwork. He strode forward to inspect them. The harbormaster viewed him with suspicion, for it was not often an attorney was called in to handle such matters. "Excuse me," Jonathan said, interrupting his work, "but is all this cargo the Count's?"

Ten boxes were piled in the sand, with more being brought up. The harbormaster glanced over the side, then at Jonathan. "There's more down below, but the rest of the crates broke up on them rocks. It seems to be some kind o' dirt." He stressed the last word, hoping the solicitor would have an explanation, but Jonathan was as perplexed as he was. The Count had said nothing of transporting earth and he could not fathom the reason.

"Dirt," he repeated, "what for?"

From behind them came a voice, mediocre in its self-importance but memorable since it was one Jonathan had heard numerous times over the years. Renfield, ever protective of his newfound position as a servant for the Count, said, "Whatever it is, I'll take it and put it on me wagon." He gestured toward the horse and cart waiting below, the beast's tail flickering in boredom as it watched people scavenge among the debris. He and Jonathan looked at one another in disgust, the latter accustomed to being spit at whenever they met and the former attempting to repress the instinct to accommodate him. Fortunately, the harbormaster stood between them and took his job too seriously to allow someone to make off with the Count's property. He was not about to release them into the hands of a measly little runt who had on numerous occasions shouted obscenities at him.

"You can't do that, Renfield. The Count's not here to sign for them and they stay here until he comes around himself."

As much as he liked to see Renfield put in his place, Jonathan knew he was just as responsible as his adversary to see the Count appeased. The firm would not approve if Dracula was prevented from claiming his lawful property, however peculiar the contents. "I'm sorry, Harbormaster, but the rights of this ship are completely sacrificed since the tiller of this vessel is held in a dead hand."

Bushy eyebrows lifted and the harbormaster glared at him. Jonathan shrugged and wearily asked, "Where's the rest of Dracula's baggage? I'd like to inspect that as well."

Before he could follow the man below, a grubby hand caught his collar, forcing him to look down into Renfield's resentful face. "Harker, you sold me house right out from under me, and you sold that poor old count a right bill of goods with your fancy silver tongue! I've half a mind to tell Dracula he's been took good!"

Renfield's hand was ripped away from Jonathan's collar as the solicitor removed it and stepped nearer to him threateningly. He was hoping for a fight, and Jonathan was on the verge of giving it to him. He'd had enough of the man's insults and was not about to back down. Dr. Seward leapt at the brief silence and interrupted, "Mr. Renfield, I wonder if I could impose upon you to ask the Count when he rises if he would join us for dinner tonight at Billabeck Hall?"

The distraction worked, for the man turned his head toward the doctor, a sneering expression on his face. "What, at the loony bin?" Renfield could not fathom his new master in such a place, not the tall, gracious Count who treated him with such respect, whose nimble form would have been more at home in a silver palace than the broken-down ruin of Carfax. He wanted to laugh at the mere thought of it.

Insulted, Dr. Seward stressed, "At my _home_, Mr. Renfield!" He was relieved that Jonathan had slipped away with the harbormaster, no doubt to nurse his wounds.

Unfettered by the fact that he had not endeared himself to the physician, Renfield said doubtfully, "Well, I'll give him the message, but I don't think he'll be in the mood for any fancy socializing." Glaring in the direction of the hold Renfield dropped to the sand and shouted for the men to help him load the crates into his cart. They trudged forward willingly, curious as to the contents of the boxes. Only five had survived the storm intact and the rest were broken up in the hold, the rich black soil spilling out into the salt that coated the deck's smooth interior, mingling with dark stains of blood.

"I have never seen anything like it," one of the men said as he stared at the mangled remains of the ship. Dr. Seward was seeing to the removal of the last of the bodies, dismembered beyond reason. No storm had torn out their throats like that yet there was no indication there had been any wild animals on board. Renfield pulled a face as he gazed at the battered bodies being loaded into the lorry cart. Their gruesome expressions were covered by white sheets as the doctor lingered in the background, looking slightly nauseated. He had mixed feelings about the ship, for it had a haze over it, a disturbing aura that made his stomach constrict with fear. He looked into the waves pulling at the shoals on the beach and turned his thoughts elsewhere.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The storm and unlikely nature of the Count's survival were a popular topic of conversation in Whitby, for wherever Lucy and Mina went that morning were huddled figures discussing it, from the peculiar circumstances surrounding the ghastly remains of the ship's crew to the surprising revelation that the only passenger had made it out alive. The post office manager said it had been the fiercest night of his experience and it was a miracle the Count had not drowned with the others. The opinion of the local apocathory was that no one could have survived and he looked grim whenever anyone stated otherwise. Mina went into his shop for her medicine and came out again bright red, having chanced to remark on their new neighbor and gotten a sharp retort in return. "I don't understand it," she said with genuine confusion. "He was not happy _at all_ that the poor man did not drown. He said it was unnatural, ungodly, that we should not invite him into your house, and he hoped he would go away again immediately!"

"Mr. Forester is a sour old miser, Mina. You must remember that." Lucy assisted her into the two-seater coach, a gift from her father on her last birthday. It suited her very well and the pony that pulled it was mild mannered enough she could hitch it herself, something that pleased her immensely. She happened to glance into the window of the shop and saw Mr. Forester glaring at them before he vanished behind the counter. The vehemence of his response unnerved her and she hesitated, wondering what it was about the incident that so aggravated him.

No one else was disturbed by the Count's survival and there was envy in the gaze of anyone who learned he had been invited over that evening for dinner. Mina was soon surrounded by curious townspeople interested in what she thought of him and if he had spoken at all, for only a handful of individuals had caught a glimpse of him. "I wonder what he thought of the broken rubble of a house that London solicitor sold him," someone muttered and Lucy looked at him rather sharply, insulted that he would dare insinuate Jonathan had intended to cheat him. Most of the people in town did not like her fiancé and she could not fathom why, apart from their distrust of Londoners and that he was far more educated than any of them. He was a modern, businessman whose flashy automobile and carefully chosen suits set him apart. Though the sharpness of her frown indicated she disapproved of any such statements, the speaker did not relent as he stared her down, everyone else oblivious to her annoyance. Mina was busy describing the Count and hesitated as she remembered his magnificent dark eyes, so gentle and mysterious beneath the dark, tousled hair against his brow.

It took them longer than anticipated to finish their errands, which included shopping for a new evening gown since Mina had looked through her trunks that morning and claimed she had nothing to wear. As one of the more fashionable young women of her acquaintance, Lucy very much doubted that but knew it was a response formed of nerves and allowed her friend all the luxuries she craved, accompanying her on her shopping trip and helping her choose a beautiful lace gown that brought out the color in her high cheekbones. She was paying for her purchase at the counter when one of the sales clerks came up to Lucy, fingering a pair of gloves with mild interest, and asked, "What was your impression of the foreigner, Miss Seward?"

"He was articulate and handled the situation with extraordinary composure." Lucy was honest in her response but hesitant, for it felt strange to offer an opinion on a man who had preoccupied her every waking hour since their encounter. He had no more than looked at her but that glance had been more stimulating than any Jonathan had given her. The sales clerk moved away as Mina received her package and came to accompany her out to the waiting coach. The road from town wound past the cliffs overlooking the beach and they stared down onto the scene, Lucy's heart leaping when she saw Jonathan's shiny black automobile parked on the sand, gleaming with polish beneath the haze that was starting to clear in the heavens, making way for a pristine autumn day.

Renfield hated the sight of it, detested every line and curve almost as much as the man who drove it, who had forced him out of his home and turned it over to the magnificent count. Dracula had been weary when he arrived and said nothing when he observed the utter ruin of the place, so water damaged and forgotten it was a mangled mess of filthy windows and dark corridors. Rats ran rampant in its lower quarters and spiders in the upper rooms, the place so filthy it would take an army of servants to bring up to any standard of living. Renfield had anticipated a response of confusion or even anger, had even been hoping for resentment against Harker for the sheer state of the place, but Dracula had merely entered with a sweep of his long dark coat and observed in silence. One of the crates had been dragged into an upper room, a most tedious and difficult task, for the earth made it heavy, and Renfield had left the Count there alone to go for the rest of the luggage.

He continued to linger when Jonathan emerged from the hold, confusion in his eyes, for the crates below held only shovelfuls of thick, rich, black earth. He had been told foreigners were eccentric but had not expected anything like this. "Box up whatever can be salvaged and deliver it to Carfax Abbey," he said dismissively, not knowing what else was to be done with it. "Give it to Renfield."

The man scowled at the use of his name but did not say anything, turning his back as Jonathan offered Dr. Seward a ride home. Most of his medical influence had been exercised and there was no further need of him, so he agreed, accepting the London newspaper Jonathan gave him with much excitement, for he was keen for news from beyond Whitby. He was left to silence as they drove the winding road up the coast, eventually abandoning the beach. The tires crunched on the shoals beneath them as they sped toward the sanitarium and his pulse quickened as he saw Lucy, fully in command of an elegant little coach, just returning from town.

"Jonathan!" she cried out with delight and wondered if there was _too much_ enthusiasm in her voice. Reigning in the docile pony, Lucy scrambled out and ran to meet him, a vision of loveliness in a violet traveling gown and a hat secured by several pins. It was nearly impossible to keep anything on her head for her hair was so wild most of the time it took persistence to tame it. Her father glanced up from his paper, a bag of candy in hand, as she went into the young man's arms. "Thank God you're here," she told him, eager to explain the evening's excitement and hoping it would lift her fascination with their new neighbor. Jonathan smelled of petrol and cigarette smoke, for he carried them in a silver, embossed case and offered them to his clients. He met her lips without hesitation, caring nothing for her conversation, parting her mouth and sending tremors through her being, his hands firm against her throat as he expressed how sorry he was that they had been apart for more than a month.

Behind them, Mina blushed furiously and looked away, attempting to give them privacy despite their observers in the immediate area and the sanitarium windows, where a half dozen faces were pressed against the glass. Used to this behavior, her father said, "There, there, that's enough of that. Save that for after you're married," and returned to his newspaper, knowing his chastisements were never heeded. Things were much different now than in his youth, when the touch of a hand was considered indecent, much less familiarity on this level. But then, he had never been able to keep Lucy in line.

Pushing against Jonathan's chest, Lucy continued, "I can't tell you how dreadful it's been! Mina went..."

"Slow down, Lucy, slow down," he said with a tolerant smile, his hair mussed from the drive, a sort of sandy brown color that contrasted sharply with his tailored suit. Jonathan was meticulous about his appearance to the point of obsession, somewhat vain, and always in control. He wanted to see her, not listen to a bunch of nonsense about the shipwreck. He had seen far too much on the beach and had no desire to relive the memories. "I have come up here to meet your new neighbor," he said to explain his unexpected arrival. It bothered him that Lucy did not seem to care and had no more interest in his reasoning than he had in hers, for it brought breathlessness back into her sultry voice as she exclaimed, "It was terrifying! Mina found him washed up on the beach. It's a miracle he's not dead!"

Remembering the sight of him lying among the rocks brought a change to her expression, awareness that Mina was listening to them; the wind blowing up from the sea had a faint chill to it. Jonathan noticed and his features softened into smile as he observed her, flushed with excitement and the success of a morning's work. "God," he said, bringing her back around from her thoughts, "you look lovely, Lucy!"

His hand remained on her arm, warm against the fabric hugging her slender form. Lucy could not help the girlish appreciation that surfaced with his comment, her tone teasing as she answered, "I look dreadful. I haven't been to bed all night." It was wicked of her, an allusion to something her father would have found inappropriate had he been listening, but he was eagerly reading his newspaper, his cheeks bulging out around the sweet he was sucking. He was always oblivious when reading the _Times_.

Jonathan laughed and kissed her once more, gently. "I'll meet you up at the house," he said, and pulled down the drive. Lucy allowed him to go first, the horse uncertain around the smoking vehicle, which was Jonathan's pride and joy. He kept it polished to perfection and Lucy teased that he loved it more than he did her. "That is certainly not true," he vowed, but she had doubts, particularly whenever she caught him staring at it adoringly. She returned to the cart where Mina sat patiently, her new dress wrapped in brown paper at her feet and color in her cheeks. The last hundred yards to the house was made without undue haste and one of the stable hands came out to take the coach, Dr. Seward escorting Mina into the house, her precious package under her arm. Lucy fell into step with Jonathan, squeezing his hand as she accompanied him. It was so nice to see him again, even if various comments in town made her anxious, for she knew he would never be accepted, even if he worked at it.

"So you have met the Count," he said as she removed her hat and gloves and placed them on the side table in the hall for Mrs. Callaway to take upstairs. The housekeeper was one of the few people who accepted him without question because she loathed to think Lucy had inferior taste in anything, much less in a prospective husband.

Lucy sensed a hint of jealousy in Jonathan's voice, for he had assumed he would be the first to meet their new neighbor, welcome him to Whitby, and introduce him to the others, and instead he was last. Gauging his response in the nature of his reflection in the hall mirror, she responded, "Only for a moment, though we have invited him for dinner." She preceded him into the parlor where Mina was already settled on the divan. Her father had left them with the intention of checking on a patient who had tried to swallow his tongue. The remarks of the man in town lingered on her mind. Lucy knew about Carfax even if she had never been inside. It was a ramshackle place lying in ruin and the bank was relieved to be rid of it, along with Renfield, who had caused them more headaches than they cared to admit. Dracula had written with interest in the caretaker and agreed to keep him on. When she had learned of the sale of the house Lucy had laughed and asked, "Who would want such a dreadful old place?"

Unbuttoning her jacket now that she was in the warmth of the parlor and away from the cold wind that blew in off the sea in the autumn months, Lucy sat down. Jonathan prowled the edges of the room lost in thought and Mina was unusually quiet, preoccupied with the long afternoon hours that separated them from their guest. Lucy said, "I wonder what the Count thought of his new house."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jonathan asked testily and she realized she had struck a nerve. Renfield's similar remarks on the beach had aggravated him because he knew most of the town considered him little better than a cheat. The sharpness of his tone caused Mina to look at them, her face flushing slightly.

"Nothing," Lucy replied but did not really mean it and he knew it. She had listened for months to comments about Jonathan, none of them pleasant. There were complaints about the noisiness of his car, how it scared carts and horses along the road; he was accused of being obnoxious and self-centered; he made unreasonable demands at the hotel where he stayed; his petulant attitude was unflattering and his city ways unappealing. Most recently, it was that he had cheated a foreigner on the sale of Carfax, and as much as she desired to believe otherwise, Lucy could not help wondering if there was some truth to the rumors. She was only sorry this argument had to transpire in front of Mina, for any disagreement between them would only make her uneasy.

Equally mindful of their companion and choosing to ignore her, Jonathan said, "I know what they are saying about me in town." The harsh judgment he had been under since his initial arrival was apparent each time he walked its streets. People made it quite plain that in their opinion he was not worthy of Dr. Seward's daughter. "They claim I have cheated the Count; that he washed up in a storm and only had a ruin to go to. I told Dracula about the place. I wrote to him that it is in disrepair, the roof leaks, the courtyard in shambles, the grounds overgrown, and immense work will be needed to make it livable. And do you know what he said? That it sounded 'charming,' it was 'just exactly the sort of place' he was looking for, he 'did not mind a few rats here and there,' so long as the neighbors were tolerable. Damn it, I did _not _cheat the man, and it is time people stop saying I did!"

The profanity brought a startled gasp to Mina's lips but he had made his point and Lucy did not argue. The mood was strained between them the rest of the afternoon and she busied herself in the sanitarium looking after Annie's baby. It was a quarter to six when she emerged to find Mina hovering in the hall waiting for her, bolting forward as she passed through the iron gate her father locked each evening. Her excitement was evident as she took Lucy by the hand and whispered, "He said he would come! Word came from Carfax! Oh, Lucy, will you help me dress? I'm so nervous and afraid I will make the wrong impression."

"How could his savior possibly make the wrong impression?" Lucy asked as she linked their arms and escorted her friend down the hall. "If it were not for you, no one would have found him in that cave—and besides, you are delightful. He would be a mad, arrogant fool not to know it."

Mina gave a little sigh of relief, and Lucy pressed a kiss against her friend's cheek. Jonathan's return convinced her any fascination with their new neighbor was no more than a fleeting attraction. Count Dracula was of no interest to her beyond what he might provide for her friend.

Tonight, she would make certain it was all about Mina.


	6. Chapter 6

The old house was daunting, full of looming shadows as he drove the horse and cart up to the side door. There was no indication of life within its arches and he did not call out to summon his master as he propped open the door with a rock and started to drag the crates indoors. Renfield had delivered the news of the doctor's invitation to dinner dutifully on his return earlier that morning to his master. Dracula had considered and agreed, requesting that his acceptance of the invitation be sent at once and retiring to the upper rooms for the remainder of the afternoon. Renfield had not seen him since his first trip from the beach and it was now his fourth. Many hours had passed in this arduous labor, a strain on his muscles as much as his temperament as he moved the crates one by one inside. When he had asked Dracula if he might employ assistance, the Count had answered that he preferred only those he trusted to enter his house. The tone of his voice had been so final Renfield had not pushed the issue, finding that as mesmerizing as his new employer was, there was something also frightening about him, deeply intimidating and secretive.

Pulling the crate through the enormous doors into the cobwebs that amassed in great silver clouds on every surface, Renfield cursed under his breath. His muscles were giving out, his face beet-red beneath the scruff on his chin, his beady eyes narrowed as he attempted to heave the box up the winding flight of stairs. "This is the last one," he muttered, longing for the bottle of whisky he had stashed under the seat in the cart; he could almost feel it pouring into his throat, burning all the way down, "and lucky for you, cause I'm not a bloody machine!"

He paused on the landing and straightened his back, grunting as he looked around at the eerie corridors. It was a sinister sort of place, one no one in their right mind would have lived in, but he had cared for it since his youth; it was all he had ever known, from the ramshackle bookshelves to the rotting railings. He paused as he heard movement upstairs and glanced at the intimidating doors that towered over him. There was no indication the Count was there. He shook his head, attempting to repress the unease creeping up his backbone, and heaved, clenching his teeth as he tried to drag the crate up to join the others.

In the room above, silent footsteps accompanied the flow of a long, ragged cloak as it swept dusty floorboards. Dracula moved without conscious thought but all his actions were slow and deliberate, elegant as he appeared at the head of the stairs, his dark eyes shimmering in the partial darkness as a growing hunger spread through him. He had not eaten since the slaughter on the ship, born of an inhuman rage formed of self-preservation. They had been determined to be rid of him, to cast him overboard without hesitation, a heinous and rude course of action he had taken as a personal insult. He had only drunk from the boy at first, a shy cabin boy whose long fingers had opened the crate in which he had been concealed, curious as to the contents. It had been an accident but opportune, for Dracula found in him a willing servant until the hypnosis had begun to wear off. Then he had become more and more resistant, until one night Dracula had been forced to throw his corpse overboard, his blood enough to sustain him until reaching England.

He had not counted on the storm, the rampant paranoia of the crew, or the nosiness of the first mate. He had not planned on killing them all but had not been able to help it, and as soon as the ship crashed against the rocks had thrown his wolf form onto the shoals, his presence frightening the occupants of the sanitarium and calling to others, those of weaker, more compassionate minds. Mina had found him. He knew her name without being told. _Mina_. It was in her thoughts, in the caress of her fingers when he had closed his around them and read her uncertainty, her disbelief, her emotions that indicated she was fearless in that instant, fascinated with him, lured by his incredible powers of persuasion. Her mind had been weak, impressionable… then he had sensed the presence of another mind, far more powerful, resistant to his mental advances. He had seen her only briefly, her arms around Mina, but the impression she left on him was lingering.

The Count watched Renfield move beneath him, making uncultured, animalistic grunts as he heaved a crate up the steep flight of stairs. He had no desire to drink from the man, for he was a squat, insignificant minion, his mind already teetering on the edge of insanity; without much effort, the Count could drive him mad. But if he did not feed before he left his nerves would not be heightened, his senses dulled through desire, his ability to watch and enjoy his human companions lessened with bloodlust. Dracula had left Transylvania for just this purpose, to observe mankind—taste what they had to offer, yes, but also watch them, for he was fascinated with them. His own mortality had so long ago been sacrificed that he no longer remembered it, forced to relive it through others. There were times he wished to be human again, when others prompted emotions he believed had been deadened in his no-longer-beating heart. But they never lasted long.

Renfield looked up at him and Dracula suddenly had the desire to frighten him. Lifting his arms, the edges of his cape flowing freely through his fingers, he transformed, his eyes dulling as his hearing sharpened, hearing the screams of the man as he watched an impossible illusion, the appearance of a bat from a human's form. Air flowed beneath his wings as he soared after the source of his nourishment, the plump form of his victim tumbling head over heels down the staircase and landing unconscious at the foot. His throat gleamed in the fading light, unmoving as tiny fangs sank into his flesh. The blood was sharp and foul, tainted with whiskey, but it would do for now. Dracula drank just enough to regain all his cleverness and halt the bloodlust in his veins, then transformed again, his once ragged cloak now flowing in a satin sheen about his shoulders.

The doors opened without him touching them, the carriage drawing up without a driver, for he summoned the horses with his thoughts. They moved uneasily as he swept down the stairs and sprang into the interior, the door slamming shut. He urged them on with a single unspoken command. He could sense the occupants of the sanitarium as he drew nearer, able to connect with Mina. They were speaking about him, about the shipwreck, attempting to form reason out of madness. He was not concerned. They would never discern the truth, for it was too apparent for them to see it. Humans could be remarkably oblivious when it suited them, limited by a disbelief in anything supernatural; it gave him power over them, because they would never suspect it. Not of him, the charming, elusive, remarkable Count…

Flickering lamplight surrounded them, music wafting through the gramophone Lucy was toying with, attempting to decide what she should play for the Count's arrival. There was an extensive collection since Jonathan insisted on bringing her a record whenever he came from town. Even though they were still wary of one another since their argument, he produced one from his bag and she put it into motion, half listening to the nature of their conversation, for it had gone on for more than an hour, long before she and Mina had descended from their room dripping in violet and pink lace, their hair carefully swept away from their faces. Mina was pale but there was a sparkle in her eyes of excitement, though she concealed it well as she awaited the glass of sherry Swales was pouring for her. Dr. Seward had insisted she drink one each evening for her health, and although she disliked the taste, she obliged without complaint.

"It was pushed along by the storm, no doubt," Dr. Seward was too stubborn to believe anything inhuman had caused the damage to the ship. He was an atheist, his interest neither in God nor supernatural reasoning, and not inclined to follow the ancient superstitions of the townspeople, who all agreed it was an unusual, deeply suspicious set of circumstances.

Jonathan was similarly minded and even less devout, but these events were peculiar enough to give him reason for pause. With a glass of sherry glistening in his fingertips, he argued, "No storm could have caused that captain's throat wound! I've never seen anything so ghastly!"

Behind him, Lucy moaned, for she had already heard the grisly story of the wounds inflicted on the Romanian shipmen her father had seen safely to the morgue. "Please, Jonathan, not before dinner," she pleaded. He offered her a halfhearted apology, his thoughts dark as he stared into the far corner of the room with narrowed eyes.

As Swales held out the tray of sherry, Mina took a small glass, turning to her companions with concern. "And Dr. Seward, that wolf or dog or whatever it was?" There was concern behind her seemingly innocent question for it frightened her to believe there was a ferocious creature roaming the countryside. No one else had seen it but there had been reports of suspicious activities throughout the surrounding parish. Swales loved lurid details, for he was fascinated with the grotesque beyond the sanitarium walls. Dr. Seward had no answer for her other than that it was probably the ship's mascot.

The lean figure in the background said, "Early this morning, that big dog belonging to Dussman was found dead as a doornail; had its throat tore away."

"Tore away?" Jonathan repeated, this stirring him from the morbid nature of his thoughts, for he remembered the grisly sight of the captain with his throat torn free, most of his blood long gone or spattered about the deck. It turned his stomach.

"Aye, by some savage claw, they say."

The women shuddered and the doctor visibly cringed, but Jonathan had gone pale. Mina was silent on the divan. She sensed him coming, felt his presence when he entered the house, a blush flooding into her features as his first footstep fell in the corridor, his soft voice speaking to the lanky young man who worked as a servant when not on guard in the asylum. He entered the room ahead of their guest, scrambling to be out of his path as he pronounced "Count Dracula" with a certain air of reverence. Every head in the room turned to the open doorway except for Lucy, whose entire body shifted of its own accord, anticipation filling her as his looming figure appeared beneath the arch. The aura that accompanied him was magnificent; it stirred curiosity in the men and invoked desire in the women. It pulsed through her and left her speechless as he paused significantly on the top step, his dark eyes flickering over everyone in the room.

_Lucy_.

That was her name. It came to him with a ferocity he found perplexing, for he had never encountered such strength in a female mind. She was curious about him but determined to remain distant, resistant to his effort to influence her. He swept the cloak from his shoulders and threw it into the arms of the servant, descending the stairs and approaching her. The connection was immediate and intense, shocking both of them, for he was drawn to her out of everyone else in the room, to the one person he knew would defy him. She had not heard his voice clearly until now and found it rich and seductive, almost a purr as he said, "Good evening," and then, with a mild pause, "Miss Seward."

It was not an acknowledgment so much as information, as if her presence fascinated him. He did not linger long enough for her to feel threatened, just enough for her to realize how impressive he was, how tall and masculine, how he diminished everyone else in the room. Jonathan was insignificant in his wake, her father all but forgotten, even though he was the first to welcome their guest. Dracula's eyes darted to the pretty young woman watching him bashfully from her place, hoping she would be acknowledged yet afraid of it at the same time. "Miss Van Helsing," he said with a gentleness they all found particularly touching, "my savior. I trust you are feeling improved."

He swept up her hand and bent over it in an intimate, charming gesture that brought a flush to her cheeks for its flattery, as well as that he remembered her and had learned her name. "Yes," she whispered, her breath catching in her throat; he could feel her heart pounding beneath his fingertips, sense the blood as it pulsed through her veins. "Thank you."

"I don't think she looks well at all," Lucy remarked from the background, and Dracula looked at her, narrowing his eyes slightly as he gauged the amused expression on her face. She was challenging him because his presence put her ill at ease. She was accustomed to dealing with simpletons who never made her feel uncomfortable for responding to her own desires. Mina was blushing again but she was so ill the color did not much alter her appearance. Dracula sensed it was her heart and knew with the touch of his hand against her chin that it was hereditary; she had suffered throughout her childhood and would continue to experience pain as an adult. He cared little for human life but never liked to see anything suffer unless it was at his instigation.

"Well," he conceded, his fingers lingering against her chin as he prompted her to look at him, "perhaps a trifle pale." He was aware of the others lingering in the background, of the enthusiasm of Jonathan to be acknowledged; he was trembling with excitement and nervousness. He ignored them, his eyes connecting with Mina's and probing her soul. There was so much she wanted out of life, to be like all the other women she envied—most of all like Lucy, her remarkable, powerful, beautiful, courageous friend. Mina's heart was almost about to burst with admiration but in the furthermost corner of it was the faintest hint of jealousy.

Jonathan said, "Count Dracula, we haven't actually met…"

"This is…" Dr. Seward began.

His guest turned fluidly to the figure standing behind him with a charming smile, reaching out one of his long hands. "Jonathan Harker, my new English solicitor. I have enjoyed our correspondence." He had learned much from Jonathan without the man even realizing it, for with every spatter of the pen, Jonathan revealed his true nature: his ambition in the boldness of his writing, his desire in the curve of the letters, his competitiveness in attempting to match the Count's unique vernacular. Dracula saw his guesses about the man had been correct: he was quite clever if not exceptionally so, proud of his accomplishments, and most of all, was attached to Lucy Seward. This was most obvious, even more than his determination to be noticed and accepted as an equal.

Dracula found him amusing.

"As have I, too, I must say." Jonathan did not wish to admit he was impressed, that he had envisioned an older, far more cultured man than the one who stood before him as the author of their correspondence. Dracula did not look much older than he but there was a wealth of wisdom and experience in his writing, certain of what he wanted and willing to accept nothing less than his demands. It disconcerted him the Count was so attractive, although he was relieved that Dracula seemed preoccupied with Miss Van Helsing, whom he could tell from the frequent blushes was equally affected. Good. The last thing he wanted was to ward off his client from favoring Lucy.

With amusement in his eyes, for he sensed the argument of previous hours lingering in the air, biting at the back of Jonathan's thoughts and coloring his perspective with defensiveness, Dracula remarked innocently, "I must thank you for finding me an extraordinary house here in Whitby."

He watched with sadistic pleasure as Jonathan's smile faded slightly, his response to stiffen as a cruel laugh originated from Lucy, who could not help it. One pale hand lifted to her lips in an effort to halt it, her voice alive with mirth as she said, "I'm sorry, but I don't see how anyone, except possibly Milo Renfield, could spend even a day at Carfax Abbey."

Everyone was looking at him, seeing this dramatic challenge for what it was, but Dracula was nonchalant in his response, his hand sweeping along the top of the mantle in a seemingly careless gesture meant to inform him fully of his surroundings, for it enabled him to gather as many scents as he could. As his fingertips brushed the wood he felt most of the conversations that had transpired in this room, the memories, losses, and triumphs. The air around him stirred, echoing in his ears as he considered her with absolute seriousness. In the same quiet voice that had seduced many into a false sense of reassurance, Dracula replied, "A house, Miss Seward, cannot be made habitable in a day, and, after all, how few days go to make up a century."

Her humor faded and he knew she did not fully understand his meaning; she struggled with the idea of eternal life; part of her knew what he was but could not recognize it. She wanted to understand, attempted to comprehend him as much as she fought his influence, for it nagged at the edges of her thoughts and made her want to cease resistance, to hold still and listen. "I'm sorry," she whispered, for the first time earnest in her response, "I don't understand."

No, she didn't. It was as if they were the only two people in the room, as if Jonathan was not chewing on his lip, nervous that she might insult his client, as if Dr. Seward were not wishing she was less impertinent and forward in her comments, as if Mina was not staring at Dracula with such mournful intensity that it tugged at his consciousness. She wanted to hear him, to listen to him, to have him penetrate her soul. The willing were so much less fascinating than those who resisted, who fought him every step of the way, who provided him with a challenge. He could have Mina in an instant, but not Lucy. He would have to fight for her, to win her over.

"I am of an old family. To live in a new house would be impossible for me."

Dracula's eyes burned into hers and Lucy could not speak or even breathe, the spell broken only when hearty footsteps brought Swales into the room, their cantankerous butler ignoring the tension. All of them sensed it, a natural antagonism between the Count and the lady of the house, who resented him for his boldness, his ability to stare her down, and the impression she had that he was fully aware of her limitations and tolerating her attempts at equality. It was enough to drive her mad.

"I've got dinner hot, if anybody cares," grouched Swales behind them.

Eager to relieve the intensity, Jonathan answered, with relief, "I care, Mr. Swales. Come on, Lucy." He threaded his arm through hers and she accompanied him without comment, relieved to be leaving the parlor and its mysterious occupant. He awakened such confusion in her that she did not know how to respond. She both desired and was repulsed by him. Jonathan sensed her tension, for he patted her arm and smiled at her, receiving a similar turn of her lips in exchange as he led her into the dining room. Her father grinned at the prospect of his favorite meal of the day and encouraged the Count to accompany him as he departed, downing the last of his sherry in a single swish and leaving Mina alone in the company of her admirer. Her gaze fell to the floor, another flush beginning at the base of her neck, slender and beautiful in the faint light.

The Count looked intently at her. "Miss Van Helsing," he said meaningfully, and she dared to lift her gaze to his as he swept forward with one outstretched hand, offering to accompany her. The first genuine smile he had seen from her crept across her face, pleased that he would acknowledge her as her fingers slid into his. She found his touch colder than she anticipated but it did not make her shiver, only feel strangely exhilarated as he drew her to her feet.

Tonight, she felt as if she were capable of anything.


	7. Chapter 7

It was astoundingly quiet in the main part of the house, away from the noise and confusion of the sanitarium, and had not Dracula been conscious of the many weak and impressionable minds within the asylum he would never have guessed they were not alone. The dining room was old fashioned and untouched since the lady of the house's death, for Lucy had changed nothing about it, from her mother's furniture arrangement to the delicate china plates on which their dinner was served. Dracula was seated beside her and this granted him the opportunity to observe her habits, which were studied and fluid, her portions small and her eyes constantly flickering to Mina to discern if she was in need of anything. Mina was more than content and conversation roamed from Dracula's homeland to the fierceness of the storm. Dishes were brought out and served but no one seemed to notice the Count ate nothing, did not even pretend to; they were oblivious to the food on his plate remaining untouched and he never reached for his glass of wine. It took very little to draw a haze over their eyes, to make them believe he was eating when he was not, to influence all their assumptions; they were having such a wonderful time they did not notice he tasted nothing, from the delicately prepared lamb of the first course to the rich wine that flowed into crystal glasses. Swales offered it to him and was declined, thinking nothing of it as he moved to fill Lucy's tumbler, her slender form turning toward the Count with fascination as she inquired as to his opinion on the voyage itself.

"Jonathan has been speculating all night as to the nature of the wounds inflicted on the captain and the others," she said, gauging his response as he looked intently at her, his magnificent dark eyes intent on every curve of her face. "Mina saw a large dog on the beach and we wondered whether or not he might have been the cause."

Her friend lowered her fork apologetically, as if it were her fault they were interrogating him, but Dracula did not mind, for it granted him the opportunity to study his companions. Lucy was the most at ease, comfortable in her own home and equally formidable, her mind sharp and her wit profound. Jonathan had a habit of pushing food around on his plate whenever he was sulking. Dr. Seward had no noticeable habits apart from his eagerness for second helpings, and Mina ate like a little bird, her slender hands hovering over the table, an indication of her nerves. Dracula was drawn to how delicate they were but his gaze lifted to her face and he answered, "The captain did have a large dog of some sort, but he seemed docile enough."

"Well, what else could it have been?" Jonathan felt that was the most logical explanation and was dismissive of local theories. The ship had run aground, the dog gone mad in the storm and torn out the throat of the captain before leaping overboard. That was all there was to it. "There is a good deal of superstition about it in town, but nothing seemed amiss to you, did it, Count?"

It was easy to forget Jonathan was in the room, for Dracula was wholly occupied with his female companions, one quiet and self contained, the other enthusiastic and outspoken. He never looked at one more than the other, turning his eyes constantly between them in observance of every small detail and flutter of eyelashes. He had missed female companionship in Transylvania, lamenting the loss of his wives centuries earlier; their deaths had left him once more alone. Whitby was promising in that regard, for in the course of a few hours he had made the acquaintance of two potential eternal companions. It would not be difficult to influence Mina, but Lucy would be far more of a challenge.

Dracula answered, "It is difficult for me to express precisely, but there seemed to be a doom over the ship from the moment we left Varna." His hand was on the table near the doctor's, as it had been since he had sat down, and Swales leaned over his shoulder to offer him the wine a second time. This minor movement alerted the doctor to the fact that his glass was empty and he said, "Count, some wine? You haven't…"

"No, thank you, I never drink… wine." Dracula smiled at him pleasantly and the doctor frowned slightly as he cut into his meat, but the oddity was soon forgotten. The Count was easy to speak with, for he was intimidated by nothing, so open in all his opinions that he was great conversationalist. He had a beautiful way with words that was as hypnotic as his presence, which was profound but never of such an overpowering nature that his companions had cause to resent it. There was a good deal of the old world about him that in anyone else Lucy might have found offensive but somehow it suited him. As much as she wanted Mina to keep his attention, she could not help stealing it whenever conversation faltered.

"Before you arrived, we were looking at the ship's log," Lucy remarked.

He looked at her with a peculiar intensity that she might have mistaken for concern. "It wasn't lost at sea?" he inquired with surprise, for the ruin had been so magnificent that he had felt certain all notable documents would be thrown into the churning waves. It had been the most miserable night of his life, from the storm in the heavens to the dank scent of the cave where he had run bedraggled and weary, his bloodlust fading into unconsciousness. _Damn_, he thought. The ship's log would document the peculiarities of the first mate and the missing cabin boy. It would state that they had seen him one night beneath the full moon, when he had not been quick enough to hide in the shadows. It would say there were no passengers on board, only cargo. He felt irritation at its existence, for if the truth became known he would become the focus of local suspicion.

Lucy shook her head in response to his question. "The very last entry was a strange word, a word Mina thought meant 'undead.'" She glanced across the table at her friend, who was primly wiping her lips on her napkin, the Count repeating, disconcertedly, "Undead?"

"Yes," one of the girls replied; he did not know which, for his thoughts were racing, attempting to discern how much danger he was in; " '_Nosferatu_.' "

Ah yes, a word he knew well, one popular in Romania and remote parts of Transylvania, not far from his home, a much-lamented and feared place among the locals. Only the gypsies dared venture within its borders, for they were his servants, having signed a blood pact with him centuries before. He would not feed on them if they did his bidding. It was they who had filled his crates with earth, transported him to the docks, and said nothing of the unusual cargo loaded onto the unfortunate ship. "_Nosferatu,_" they called him, afraid to call him anything else.

They were all watching him expectantly, knowing he would be able to translate for them. "Ah," he said with feigned delight, looking at Mina when he said it, "it means 'not dead.' "

How had she known the meaning of nosferatu? That she was so close to the truth disconcerted him. His remark was seen as affirmation for her companions, for Jonathan smiled and sat back in his chair, Dr. Seward nodded over his fifth glass of wine, and Lucy said with warmth in her voice, "You were right!"

There had been quite an argument before Dracula's arrival, for the waterlogged volume had been brought from the sea by a local constable, who had learned the Count was due to spend the evening at the sanitarium and wanted his opinion on the mysterious contents. It had been agreed it was improper for him to remain but the book had been left with Dr. Seward, who had not spent more than a few minutes pondering it before Lucy had taken it out of his hands. Her fascination with the macabre had never ceased to amaze him but he had not protested as she showed it to the others. Their heads had bent over it for quite some time, pointing out words in an attempt to translate them. Mina had not been as interested but found it peculiar that she could not discern Dracula's name on any of the pages.

"Is it not odd the captain did not speak of him anywhere?" she had asked, soft curls framing delicate features, her enormous eyes filled with concern. The only thing she could translate was "_nosferatu_," as she had seen it in a book in her father's collection of European literature. He had removed it from her hands with a, "No, no, my child, this is not for you!" kissed her on the forehead, and directed her to the English poets instead. It had vanished from his shelves after the incident and not resurfaced, though she was obedient enough not to want to read it when told not to. Lucy would have been far more persistent, but it was not in Mina's nature to contradict anyone, much less her father. She could tell her knowledge impressed their foreign visitor, who continued to look at her with a peculiar expression that made her feel slightly light-headed.

"No," he said, surprising all of them, for it was not a harsh response but one formed of definite precision, "with your permission and all due respect, Miss Van Helsing…" His voice wavered as Swales reached for his dinner plate, and he seemed mildly annoyed at the interruption. "Yes, I am quite through, thank you… there is a distinction. The words 'not dead' carry the simple meaning of…"

The knife Dracula had left so carefully on his plate slipped and cut a neat arc through the man's fingers, producing a mild profanity before he could halt it. He lifted the wound to his mouth. It was so quiet an incident that no one else was aware of it but the scent of blood on the air drew the Count, turning to look at him with inhuman speed. He struggled, all his instincts rushing to the surface; he attempted to repress them through sheer force of will, slightly paling beneath the lamplight. His companions were oblivious but Swales felt the intensity of his gaze and looked at him curiously, beads of crimson forming on his injured finger.

"Dead," said Mina, and Dracula looked at her in relief for a distraction, "undead… I don't care. They all frighten me." She seemed very innocent as she said it, as if she had never encountered anything evil and knew no more of life than what she had discovered living among people determined to shelter her. Dracula envied her innocence. The tension eased out of his muscles, the scent of blood numbed as Swales wrapped a strip of linen tightly about his finger.

Lucy did not know why she said it, except that it came through her lips accompanied by the faintest trace of a smile. "I _love_ to be frightened."

The Count shifted his attention to her. "Do you?" he inquired meaningfully, and she deliberately avoided his gaze, turning it across the expanse of table toward Jonathan. He had been silent all night, reluctant to compete with the tall, dark, handsome stranger in their midst. Dracula had not been particularly attentive but Lucy could sense a certain amount of resentment in Jonathan, as his fascination rapidly turned into annoyance. Lowering her glass to the table, she answered, "I do. There are things we cannot explain, like what happened to the crew during the storm. One could speculate forever without learning the truth. I find superstition fascinating. Dead or undead… what are they but figments of our darkest imagination?"

"One cannot return from the dead, Miss Seward," Dracula told her, all others forgotten. Swales cleared away the dinner things in the background and distantly was heard the faint sound of the sea. The sanitarium was quiet, most of the occupants of the patients' ward so doped with laudanum they could barely function. Her father did that whenever he wanted a night of peace, and it would not harm them after the excitement of previous hours.

There it was again, the flash of defiance she experienced whenever he met her eyes. Lucy could not explain it but it felt as if she _had_ to fight him, to resist the powerful attraction between them, something intensely unfamiliar and threatening. It was not like what she had with Jonathan, a fondness and amusement that meant their passions were mutually beneficial. This was much stronger and would destroy her resistance if she let it. "You speak with perfect confidence, Count," she answered, "but even the Good Book mentions the reappearance of men from beyond the grave. It is not impossible to believe _nosferatu _may walk among us, whatever they may be."

"_Nosferatu_ are nothing more than superstition, Miss Seward. I assure you, there was nothing on that ship that caused her to founder in the storm." He was irritated at her persistence and his tone shocked them but he swiftly regained his former charm and added, "But if you are interested in such morbid tales, I will tell you the stories of my homeland. I assure you, they are far more curious and sinister than anything written in the ship's log."

Her heart was beating so loudly Lucy wondered if anyone could hear it; fear and excitement mingled in a single breath, but did not appear on her face as she regarded him with curiosity. "Yes, please," she encouraged, easing the tension around the table. The last of their things were cleared away and it was time to retire to the parlor, all of them rising in a single movement, Jonathan inquiring if anyone would care to take a turn with him outside. It was clearly intended to change the subject of conversation and Dracula and the doctor agreed, leaving the young women to gather their composure in their absence.

Mina watched them from the window as they walked about the garden, clearly distinguishable in the moonlight. "He is a curious man," she remarked to no one in particular.

Her friend scowled as she fiddled with the turntable, sorting through the records in search of an amusing number that would liven the evening. "Curious" was not a word she would have used; "maddening" would be far more appropriate. But she muttered a sound that could pass for agreement and hoped Mina would not notice how frustrated she was. Lucy was accustomed to men making allowances for her, attempting to seduce and beguile her, but Dracula was above such things. He was willing to challenge her, as infuriating a trait as it was appealing, for he was not persistent like Jonathan, merely present and wholly aware of her raging emotions.

The men returned before a quarter of an hour passed, remnants of their conversation lingering in the air; it had revolved around the ship's log and the doctor's curiosity as to whether or not any of it could be translated. "It is my theory, but only a theory," he said as he picked it up off the sideboard, "that some sort of madness accompanied them from Romania. Perhaps they set upon one another. You did say one of them attempted to force you overboard."

Dracula nodded and took the log book, retreating with it to the fireplace as Lucy put on a ghastly record and asked Jonathan to dance. He did not observe, turning through the pages with repulsion, for they were filled with just the sort of rampant hysteria he expected. _Cabin boy has been acting peculiarly… first mate suggests he is possessed or befuddled … he vanished today, without a trace… several more men have gone missing… devious forces suspected … _and then of course on the last page, the hasty words the captain had scrawled down while his men hoisted the box of earth onto the deck with the intention of throwing it into the sea. _I have never known such fear as this, never suspected such a desecration would come upon us, that God would abandon us to this foul creature from hell, this demented minion of darkness, this nosferatu!_

His eyes lifted from the page and came to rest on Lucy and Jonathan engaged in a ghastly modern dance. He desperately wanted to laugh and could not prevent the smirk that crept across his face before he concealed his amusement in the log, aware that the other occupants of the room were watching him expectantly. "This is written in an obscure regional dialect," he said, slamming the leather-bound book shut and stepping forward to hand it to the doctor. He would make certain to abscond with it later. "The captain was a Magyar. I am Shekyl. Unfortunately, I cannot translate it for you."

"Magyar? Shekyl?" repeated the doctor as he accepted the heavy volume. "I had no idea, Count, that your country was so complex."

The sexual gyrating was getting on his nerves. Dracula could not concentrate as he turned about the room listlessly, eventually reposing on the divan in an effort to calm his unraveling senses. "Oh, we are, Doctor," he reassured him, gratified to have somewhere to put his eyes other than the mating ritual in the background. "Indeed, it's very, very complex." His focus once more shifted to Lucy, her arms about Jonathan's neck, matching her motions to his, although he seemed to have difficulty leading her. She was the stronger partner.

Mina moved in front of them, having busied herself at the sideboard with the silver tray of coffee Swales had brought in. Humans seemed to eat and drink with reckless abandon, some of them growing plump as a result. It was fascinating to watch their habits, to attempt to understand their reasoning. She offered the Count a cup and he declined, speaking only to her, although she was not aware that no one else heard his polite deference in her head. Dr. Seward was clearly ill at ease with having to carry the conversation and cast about for a reasonable course that would not demand too much energy. "So you've come to England, Count, to settle down?"

There was something almost hopeful in it, as if he were praying the answer would be yes, that Dracula might do for his daughter rather than the London solicitor. Dracula wondered what his aversion to Jonathan was, but then, as he continued to regard the free way Jonathan handled Lucy, he need not have asked. "Settle down?" he repeated with amusement, "no, hardly! I've come to wander through the crowded streets of London or to be here in the midst of the whirl and rush of humanity, to share its life, its change…" He shifted his attention to Mina and looked deeply into her eyes, "… its death."

If she understood him, it flickered across her expression; a longing that represented everything she desired out of life that she could never obtain. Mina was dying. Dr. Seward knew it. Jonathan knew it. Mina knew it. The only person who did not know it was Lucy, for she was determined not to accept it. Mina admired his ambition, his craving for society, the passion that drove him. A sigh escaped her lips as she wished that she too could wander the world and see everything she had read about in books, from the majesty of Spain to the wilds of Africa. "You have a great lust for life, Count," she said with yearning.

He smiled at her, gently. "How well you phrase it."

Mina looked down at the coffee in her hands and seemed to remember that she had offered it to him, but as she put her foot forward, the intensity of his focus on her shifted. It was not malicious so much as driven out of necessity, a temptation to see if he might do something before their very eyes and not be caught. There was an explosion of light in her peripheral vision and she gasped as the room receded, cup and saucer dropping from limp fingers as she nearly fainted. Lucy was at her side in an instant, everyone fussing over her as the doctor held her upright. "I'm all right," she reassured them, "just dizzy."

No one noticed that Dracula did not leap to be of assistance. He arose magnificently from the divan.

"Swales, get the laudanum," the doctor ordered.

No, this he could not allow. Laudanum was monstrous stuff. It affected the heart and mind, stifling all creativity and tainting the life force with dull, emotionless nothingness. No wonder Mina was so ill if they continued to force it down her throat; fools, all of them. She deserved better than their convoluted cures.

Dracula spoke more sharply than he intended, his tone commanding as he said, "No, no drugs! You must not pollute her blood. Put her here, on the couch." He indicated the spot he had just vacated and wondered if they would fight him, for there was a flash of fierceness in the doctor's eyes that indicated he was not pleased at being contradicted. But no one ever fought the Count, no one ever flouted his superiority, and for once, not even Lucy challenged him.


	8. Chapter 8

Mina was taken to the divan and laid down, her features pale as she groped for the cushions, long lashes fluttering as she came to rest in a comfortable position, embarrassed to be the center of attention. Lucy hovered and Jonathan observed but it was the Count who removed her hand from the doctor's, looking at him cautiously to see if he were allowed this liberty. "Forgive me, Doctor," he said softly, indicating his commanding sense of presence was not meant as an insult. "You see, in my country we are a simpler people." He hoped it would be enough to soothe the man's ego and while Dr. Seward was surprised at his possessiveness, he did not attempt further interference. Lifting one of the pillows and placing it behind the invalid so she might be better positioned, Dracula spoke gently to her, his voice rippling through her veins and penetrating the clouded reasoning of her thoughts.

"The strain of the last day has been too much for you, Miss Van Helsing, and I am the cause, I fear." He smiled at her and she hastily reassured him it was not true, the others exchanging anxious glances. Lucy pressed so near to the back of the divan that Dracula could hear her heart beating, pulsing, pounding against her chest.

"No, no… it's just this… this pain in my head," Mina whispered, indicating her throbbing temples and drifting her pale white hand across her throat. "It runs down here, into my neck." Her fingers faltered and his closed over them, confident and cool against the warmth of her sudden unease. It soothed her and she was grateful for his nearness and the kindness he insisted on showing her, an obscure fondness that she had not encountered outside her friends.

He was attentive and concerned, his dark eyes focused intently on every motion of her throat. "I can remove this pain," he said and she was lost in his gaze, drowning in it, her breath catching and making her numb to all conversation around them. It was as if time slowed and there was nothing beyond the touch of his hand on hers, the nearness of his presence, seated so close she might have reached out to him with very little effort. She saw Lucy's concerned features in the distance, obscured and of no interest to her, and Jonathan's as well, for he stood nearby, a silent observer to this unique experience. Mina had almost no contact with Jonathan but he seemed nice enough, though hardly worthy of her dearest friend and champion.

The doctor had remained silent until now but saw an opportunity for importance and said, "Yes, so can I. Swales, get my…" He turned as if to go himself but the Count's tone brought him back again, a hint of a command in it that caused them all to pause.

"Such pains yield readily to suggestion."

Modern methods had put such ancient practices out of commission and it surprised them he would suggest it, glancing upwards just long enough to ascertain the doctor was stunned before he resumed his consideration of Mina. Her lips parted and she did not know what to say, for she knew her father would disapprove; he believed such things were of the devil and would never have condoned it in his household. But the pain blinded her, making it difficult to concentrate on anything beyond his voice, so soft and soothing that she did not notice his words of comfort were inside her head. Jonathan had watched throughout the evening without comment, remaining strangely withdrawn from most of their conversation, but now remarked with biting cynicism, "If you mean hypnotism, she would be better off with the pain."

He assumed everyone would agree with him and was startled when Lucy whispered, "Why?" Only she knew the pain Mina constantly experienced; her father's attempts to relieve it did nothing. Mina lied and said she was well when she was not; Lucy sometimes found her friend in such agony that she could not rise in the morning, the heaviness in her head and the weakness in her chest making it impossible. There was vulnerability in her voice that indicated her desperation, her belief that anything that might assist them would be to no dark purpose, and the shaken nature of her inquiry left no room for the others to protest. Dracula smiled at them, but behind his gentle demeanor was a serious resolve that none of them underestimated.

"I suspect Mr. Harker thinks of some ugly waving of arms. That is not my method." He looked to them for permission and when no one voiced further concern, shifted his gaze to Mina, who was in such pain she could not look anywhere but the floor. He maintained an intimacy they found astonishing, his tone quiet but compelling as he said, "Look at me," and lifted her chin so she might meet his gaze. The reaction was instantaneous, for her eyes locked on his and he could see the agony as it faded. "When I will you to do a thing, it shall be done, here and always. From now on, you have no pain."

"And no will of her own, either," Lucy muttered.

Dr. Seward sent her a reproving glance. Jonathan smirked, clearly pleased that his opinion was shared at last. Anyone else might have been insulted but Dracula was not bothered with trifles, insignificant observations that would not be remembered in the coming hours, for soon, very soon, Mina's pain would be at an end forever. There would be no more agonies of the chest, no more miseries of the head, nothing but an eternity as a child of the night. He did not know when he had decided to change her, only that it frustrated him to see her in pain; such a beautiful, innocent creature should not be made to suffer, and he was going to rescue her from the torment of this world. Mina had answered his summons on the beach, heard his voice when all others remained closed to it. She wanted him as much as he needed her, and now she would obey him, listen to him, and follow him.

"I admire your candor, Miss Seward," he said. "It is precisely the kind of stimulating encounter I'd hoped to find here in England."

"Indeed," Harker observed suspiciously, and Dracula looked at him, not at all liking his response. There was a dawning suspicion in Jonathan that something was amiss, something that might prove very damaging with time, but fortunately the solicitor was not to be here long, just time enough to hand over all the documents to Carfax. Then he would return to his firm in London and think no more of his peculiar client. Jonathan pretended to be modern but Dracula knew he was still stifled when it came to his opinion of women, Lucy in particular. He did not like the notion that anyone else found her engaging or enlightening, that a foreigner would not object to her rash and often insulting opinions.

"Yes, indeed. I despise women with no life in them. No blood."

They bored him. They were dull and uninteresting and tasted of nothing more than apathy, so content to be ignored by society that there was nothing useful about them. Lucy said nothing and he returned his attention to Mina, motionless in her trance. "When you awake, you will remember nothing," he said, and left her side, retreating a short distance and turning to watch her carefully, two of his fingers making a subtle movement at his side that broke the hypnosis.

Mina blinked several times and looked around at them, amusement breaking out on her face when she found they were all watching her with seriousness. "Good Lord," she remarked cheerfully, remembering nothing, "was it something I said?" Mina continued to smile as the doctor took her wrist in an effort to gauge her pulse and Lucy remained motionless behind the divan.

"Well, Mr. Harker, come. We must talk seriously. I want to sign the deed to my new home here in England." Dracula was all charm once more and Jonathan more than amiable, relieved to have some form of communication in which he was well studied, for legal matters were his specialty. It would please him to see the Count's signature on all the appropriate pages and bid him farewell in the hope they would not see him again for quite some time. Jonathan did not know why he wanted Dracula out of the house, only that it seemed urgent that their transaction be completed so they might once more resume normality. He fished about in his pocket for his favorite ink pen but it was not immediately needed, for Lucy recovered enough to object.

"Tonight, I won't hear of it. This is meant to be a party to welcome our new neighbor." She went to the gramophone in an effort to conceal her shaken nerves and chose one of the records at random, slipping it into place and dropping the needle without a scratch onto the surface. Mina was watching her with curiosity and all other eyes on the room shifted to her, respectful of her position as the lady of the house. Moving away from the music drifting from the small box, Lucy's movements were subtle and poised, her heart quickening as she said, "Come, Count, come and dance with me."

Everything in the room stopped. Lucy could sense all their reactions. Mina was surprised. Her father did not know how to respond. Jonathan stiffened. Had she been in command of herself, Lucy would not have dared make such a request, knowing it would throw everything into an upheaval, but she could not resist. She wanted to feel his arms around her, to discern what kind of a man had come into their lives, to discover what he wanted from all of them, for he was in constant appraisal of his surroundings. She sensed they amused him, that he looked down on them, and she resented him as much as she was drawn to him.

"But I hardly know…" he protested faintly, and she interrupted him.

"It doesn't matter. I'll teach you."

The corners of his lips turned upward at the notion that she thought he did not know the steps. How simplistic her worldview was, how quickly she leapt to conclusions with that cunning mind of hers, and how much fun he would have attempting to tame it. Lucy stood before him, her pale gown swirling around her ankles, unmoving as he came toward her, finding it difficult to breathe. He was much taller than she realized, towering over her as she turned with him into the appropriate posture. Dracula never did anything with haste and slowly placed one hand on her waist, the other barely caressing her arm as it floated up to embrace hers. "I meant," he said deliberately, seductively, "I hardly know _you_."

"Nonsense," she whispered, and stepped with him into the dance. It was as if she were floating; nothing was required of her but to allow him to lead; she had never experienced this before. She had been a fool to presume he did not know the steps, for they came easily to him, without concentration or anything beyond graceful motion, his arms around her and his eyes never leaving her own. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once, the meshing of their souls with each turn and twist, the ridiculousness of modern dance forgotten for the flavor of a romantic waltz, her choice made with no ambition but secret meaning as her resistance slipped away from her. Dracula felt her giving in, the concern written into her features fading into amusement and delight as she realized they were moving faster and faster, her steps so guided by his that she never missed a single beat. She was laughing as he spun her around the room; her inhibitions gone in the rush of music that surrounded and invaded them, ending on a dramatic note that released her from his arms. Lucy was breathless, her eyes sparkling, warmth in her voice as she said "You are welcome here whenever you wish, Count. Mina and I would have it so."

She reached for her friend's hand and Mina gave it to her, somewhat pale but with a hopeful smile that Dracula knew meant she agreed however much she resented Lucy's flirtations. They had not been intentional, but Lucy was unable to prevent them. She sensed in the awkward silence that she had angered her friends. Jonathan's face was dark as a thundercloud and even Dr. Seward was ill at ease, masking his emotions with a hasty, "Yes, yes, do indeed come and see us again, Count."

"Perhaps Miss Van Helsing will be well enough to go for a drive with me tomorrow," Dracula suggested and the young woman's features brightened significantly. She was painfully shy and blushed but nodded, adding that it would be her pleasure. He did not linger, sending for his cloak and departing with a graceful blow and kissing the ladies' hands. He held Mina's longer than was needed, meeting her eyes before he took his leave, boarding the coach with the awareness he was being watched from the windows. The horses maintained a steady pace down the lane as he dropped out into the darkness, his motions silent as he turned and made his way back to the sanitarium.

"Dracula is rather eccentric, isn't he?" Jonathan remarked as Lucy allowed the drapery to slide against the glass, having seen the coach as far as the road in the moonlight. Intensity left the room and was replaced by resentment. She did not answer, wondering what had possessed her to be so bold with him, her thoughts elsewhere as Mina said that she found him delightful, and Dr. Seward muttered it was about time the neighborhood had someone of significance in residence. Lucy twisted her hands together, oblivious as the conversation turned toward his foreign manners and unique way of speech. The hour was late and it did not take much prompting for Mina to agree to retire. The girls left the room arm in arm but as they started to ascend the staircase, Jonathan darted after them. "Lucy, may I speak with you?"

"Go ahead, I'll be there in a moment," Lucy reassured her companion, and Mina went on, gliding one graceful hand against the railing. Jonathan waited until she vanished upstairs and came closer, maintaining a soft tone as he asked, "Will you meet me later tonight, when the others have gone to sleep?"

It was their ritual, their arrangement; time alone, when they might speak freely and share kisses, a novelty she ordinarily loved but that tonight held no appeal for her. She was about to decline when her father came out of the parlor. "Good night, Jonathan," he said as he climbed the stairs, puffing slightly with the effort. "Lucy, make certain you get some sleep. The patients in the sanitarium will not need you tonight." He kissed her and she promised to do as he asked, following him up the stairs without having given Jonathan an answer, but she chanced to look down at him and he mouthed, "Please."

With a sigh, she entered her room and found Mina in her nightclothes, staring out into the darkness beyond the verandah. Lucy shut the door softly and removed her earrings, saying nothing as she crossed to her dressing table. She watched her friend's reflection in the looking glass, cautious in her observance in an attempt to see if Mina was vexed with her, but her friend remained preoccupied as she stared out over the lonely cliffs that fed down to the sea. "Make certain you show the Count the western road tomorrow," Lucy ventured after a long silence. "There is no more beautiful view across the sea in Whitby."

There was no answer except for a distant murmur before Mina turned from the window, looking at her for a long moment before she crossed the floor and climbed into bed. Lucy cringed. She could hardly blame her for being upset, since she had meant to highlight her friend that evening and had instead made a spectacle of herself. "You are not angry with me, are you, Mina?" she pleaded, turning in her chair to send a plaintive look across the room.

Mina stroked the framed photograph of her father and refused to look at her. She placed it on the side table and slowly returned her friend's gaze. "No, of course not," she said reassuringly, but there was no warmth in her tone. "You wanted to dance with him. I understand. I am only envious that my heath will not allow me to do the same." She fidgeted as Lucy came to her, sitting down on the edge of the bed and reaching for her hands.

"It is not me who he asked to accompany him tomorrow," Lucy reminded her with a smile.

This returned some of the color to her friend's face. They never fought about anything and were not about to start now, for after an instant they fell into one another's arms with tearful promises not to be foolish, that this should not come between them, and it was nothing more than silliness, soon to be forgotten. Mina brushed the tears out of her eyes and burrowed into the pillows with a smile of contentment, excited about what the morning would bring. Lucy was not long before slipping in beside her and turning out the lamp. Darkness descended around them and all was quiet for a long moment before Mina whispered, "I like him so much, Lucy."

Resting against the lace pillow sham her mother had so carefully stitched in her younger years, Lucy sighed softly and answered, "I know."

She liked him too.


	9. Chapter 9

The house was quiet in the early hours of the morning, for it was just past two when Lucy heard her companion's breathing ease into tranquil depths, indicating Mina was at last asleep. She slipped from beneath the coverlet, intending to go downstairs and tell Jonathan she was far too tired for their customary visit. He had waited for her all night, eager to embrace and kiss her, to whisper of their intentions of marriage and share his thoughts on the London practice. Jonathan knew she would not be ready for marriage for some time; her interests lay elsewhere and school would take many years, but was convinced she would change her mind. But Lucy would never alter her intentions, for she wanted to _be_ a lawyer, not married to one.

Nothing stirred downstairs as she descended, knowing the occupants slept undisturbed. Moonlight filtered through the filmy curtains and illuminated her gown as she crept into the parlor, careful not to make a sound. Jonathan normally reposed on the divan waiting for her but tonight was nowhere to be seen. Slipping across the carpet, she approached the window and peered out. Light fingertips fell against the flat surface, chilled from the night air, and her breath caressed the pane, her reflection visible before a shape materialized from the darkness behind her. "Boo!" Jonathan hissed from the shadows.

Her heart leapt at the sight of him, more out of anger and fear than pleasure, and she gasped, "Oh, my God, Jonathan, don't ever do that!"

All mirth in his countenance faded into muted disapproval as he said, somewhat caustically, "I thought you loved to be frightened?" There was an accusation in it, the implication that he resented her easy confidences with the Count. Jonathan would have preferred she be more distant and reserved, and that had been her intention, but Dracula brought out different emotions in her.

Lifting her chin in defiance, she said, "I think I shall go back to bed, Mr. Harker."

He stood between her and the hall so she twisted open the door behind her and passed into the courtyard, the moonlight caressing her hair as it rested loose against her shoulders. Jonathan followed on her heels, shutting them away from the occupants of the house in order to remain unheard. "_Mr_. Harker, is it? I see. Looks like I'm not going to be good enough for the likes of you anymore. Hobnobbing with royalty now, are we?" Resentment crept into his voice. He had dealt with society all his life, with condescending, sneering faces that looked down on him because his father was a milliner and his mother a woman of no consequence. No one assumed anything would ever come of him, much less that he would make a name for himself. He was accustomed to polite smiles and poisonous words, to those who believed him inferior because of his station in life even though he managed to rise above it. Dr. Seward on occasion looked at him in this manner, but he'd never thought Lucy would hold it against him. Not until her encounter with the Count.

"Really, Jonathan, you pretend to be so utterly modern." Lucy preceded him down the steps, the lace of her dressing gown stark against the night that pressed in around them. "We were just dancing."

His disbelief was evident, for he had seen the connection between them, an instant attraction that raged into passions he never managed to excite in her. The intensity of that dance, of their eyes, of her breathless enthusiasm had been near the act of love, far different from their flirtations. Lucy never looked at him like that, never smiled at him like that, and never _wanted_ him like that. What he had seen in her with the Count aroused his jealousy. He reached out to catch her arm, halting her at the low stone wall that separated them from the lower gardens. Only hours earlier he had stood there with the Count and they had discussed things of no importance but the memory of the tall, impressive, dark man lingered in his mind. "You were just _dancing_? That's a right amazing way of putting it."

At first he thought she would argue with him, or even return to the house, but a faint trace of a smile passed over her lips. She rested her palms on his chest, feeling the strength of his muscles beneath the thin layers of fabric. "Do you know, Jonathan, if you go on being cross, you're going to sprout the most enormous wart right on the end of your nose?" The notion amused her so much that she giggled and he could not help chuckling. Encircling her in his arms, Jonathan leaned toward her and Lucy hesitated, his lips hovering over hers. She found it abhorrent to kiss him after his atrocious behavior but also felt submission. She held her breath and his mouth caressed hers, lightly at first and then with growing intensity as he drew her against him, her resolve melting into desire as she relaxed in his arms.

High above them, his form barely distinguishable against the turrets of the asylum, Dracula watched the mortals engaged in primal affections, loathing that he encouraged her to respond rather than obey her instincts and return to the house. He wanted her out of the bedroom where Mina slept, curled up against the pillows, lost in the wondrous nature of her dreams. It repulsed him that Lucy was with the solicitor, for the fool was unworthy of her, content to kiss and caress her, to tempt her into behavior her father would not have approved of rather than to truly satisfy her. He watched as Jonathan caught her hand and ran with her down the garden path toward the small potting shed that lay beyond, where they would sit with one another until the early hours of the dawn. Lucy was luminous in the moonlight, her absence from the garden unnerving when she vanished from sight, the house decidedly silent as he crept over the edge of the roof.

Narrow fingers dug into the rough stone architecture, his weight nothing as it carried him down to the verandah and the locked set of doors that prevented him from entering Mina's room. There were a handful of lights in the wings of the asylum; some of the inhabitants were certain to look out, perhaps even see him, in their minds nothing more than a great black bat. There were forces of nature he could control and a faint mist began to creep up from the rotting leaves on the ground, unfurling in white clouds that rose to conceal his descent, swirling over the vines and seeping in at the edges of her door. Mina awakened, her eyes drifting open and coming to focus on the latch moving faintly in the gloom. Concern descended as she lifted up from the pillow, her gaze fixed in horror at the hand that appeared outside the verandah door. Her mouth opened but no scream came out, nothing more than a feeble gasp as curved fingers began to pick at the lead in the window, sharp movements that were inhuman and impossible, prompting her to look around in fear for Lucy. But her friend was not in the room and Mina could not move, frozen in place as she watched one of the panels of glass fall out, shattering on the stones beneath. The hand slipped within and beneath it the handle turned. Her heart pounded as the doors opened to admit a tall, ghostly figure into the room, mist unfurling around him as he emerged like a great black shadow from the darkness. As he drew nearer, his features came into focus and she saw the Count, intensity radiating from him as he looked down at her. Reassurance came over her and with a sigh she drifted into the pillows, reaching for the buttons of her night dress; beneath her fingertips, they came undone. It was not just his will that dictated it but also hers, innocence transforming into desire as she invited him to draw nearer, parting her neckline to reveal the whiteness of her throat in the moonlight. Her eyes were trusting as he bent over her, touching the side of her face. She turned into his hand and moaned softly, closing her eyes and reveling in the tenderness of his caress. The bed moved as he sat down, resting one hand on either side of her frail form. Illness radiated from her, weakness he longed to turn into strength.

Mina would be radiant, beautiful, and far more powerful than her peers. That specialness she longed for could be hers. Beneath his touch he sensed her pulse, her heart returning to its normal pace, even though she knew his presence was inappropriate; Mina believed it nothing more than a dream and she felt no shame in allowing him nearness. What she wanted from him was innocent and he allowed her to have it, touching her lips with his and finding gentleness in her embrace. Mina did not resist as his mouth traveled to her throat, his reassuring whispers faint in her ear. There was an instant of sharp, penetrating pain that faded into the depths of a trance, heaviness in her limbs allowing her to relax. He knew how much to take without killing her and had she been anyone else, might have drunk only enough for nourishment, but he would not let her suffer. He would give her a new life, away from the suffering the world forced upon her. God had not lessened her pain, so he would, even if it meant killing her.

It was so easy to take a life, simple to drain her until not much remained in her veins, to leave her to fade into death with the coming of the dawn, for by then she would be enough transformed that light would be fatal. She must _seem _to die, to descend into such a deep state of hypnosis that death was inevitable. It would be traumatic and painful, the transition fierce, but it would make her stronger for it. In the past he would have remained with her, held her as she experienced the terror of death and the wonder of rebirth, but this time he could not. Mina could not know what was happening to her, could not be allowed to remember anything of her "dream."

Memories were flooding into him, her memories, visions of former events that brought him sorrow, for her life was compounded of moments of inferiority, from a rush of emotions that reminded him of her gentle nature; her concern for her father, her compassion toward him; her interest in Lucy and their late night conversations. Mina feared she was a bother, was ashamed of her weakness, and envied the people around her who were without pain. She prayed each day for redemption, for salvation, for strength. Then there was the night he had summoned her and she responded to him, found attraction in the caress of his fingertips against her hand. She wanted so much more from life than it was possible to give her, but he would make certain she experienced all of it, from passion to the exquisite sense of power in holding another's life in your hands.

When he had taken enough, he drew back to look at her, pale beneath his shadow. She would not drink from him, for she was too virtuous even beneath a trance, so he sliced his lip with his sharp teeth, drawing a bead of crimson blood. Mina felt euphoric as he kissed her, exhaustion and heaviness settling into her limbs as she tasted the sweetness of his mouth. Unconsciousness descended and he rested her against the pillows, gently buttoning her gown and brushing his hand against the soft tendrils of her hair before he arose, retreating out onto the verandah and latching the door behind him. Darkness welcomed him as he threw himself off the railing, the rush of wind carrying him safely to the ground. It was not far to the drawing room window and he opened it soundlessly, slipping within and retracing his steps to retrieve the ship's log from the side table where it rested.

Turning through the pages in the moonlight, his eyes glowing with disapproval, he tucked it within the folds of his cape and passed out the window. Even before his form reached the damp earth, his feet transformed into paws and he ran through the night, his luminous eyes cast in the direction of the garden shed before he passed through the cemetery, howling at the moon as it sank toward the distant horizon. The eerie sound carried through the air and halted the conversation of Jonathan and Lucy, her smile fading as she looked toward it, feeling strangely drawn to the haunting cry. "It's nothing," Jonathan reassured her, his hand at the back of her neck. "It's just a dog."

He laughed and she drew him nearer for another kiss, but uncertainty did not leave her even when he lifted her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her. Resistant to his advances, she pulled away from him and insisted it was time to return to the house. Jonathan was disappointed but did not argue as he put out the lantern and followed her into the garden. He was several paces behind and paused on the outskirts, turning to stare into the darkness across the expanse of rocks. Nothing met his gaze but a sense of heavy unease accompanied him back into the parlor, where she parted from him at the foot of the stairs and crept back into her room. Careful not to awaken her companion, Lucy tiptoed to the bed and drew back the covers. Mina faced slightly away from her and was unmoving as her friend slipped between the cold sheets, drawing the coverlet higher on both of them and snuggling into her pillow. Sleep would not come easily and she drifted in and out of awareness into listless dreams.

Not far down the winding road along the cliffs, in the somber entrance of Carfax Abbey, dancing shapes slowly came into focus for the man resting at the foot of the enormous flight of stairs. The box of dirt remained where he had left it and in the gloom he did not know where he was. Renfield was aware of the pain rushing through him and the bruises forming on his body. He rolled over and moaned, touching his head and struggling to his feet. "Bloody hell," he complained to no one in particular, for he was completely alone, "that hurts."

Disoriented, he stumbled in the direction of the kitchen, vaguely aware of his surroundings. Dust covered everything, his every step stirring up a faint cloud, cobwebs moving in the breeze through the nearest cracked window. The form of a water pump came into sight and he hastened toward it, cranking the handle and producing no more than an empty groan from the depths of the pipes. One drop of rusty water rolled onto his palm, his attention drawn to a dark shape scampering across the table in the moonlight. Renfield's eyes brightened and he slammed his hand down to prevent its escape, lifting its wriggling form in fat fingers. "Here we go," he purred, "nice and fat and juicy!" He bit off its head and stuffed the rest into his mouth, licking his fingers and nearly choking as he turned to find a formidable presence behind him.

A strangled gasp caught in his throat as he threw himself at the door, wrenching the handle and finding in his panic that it would not open. He did not know what fear compelled him to such action, only that the form of the Count as he approached filled him with an unimaginable dread that faded into submission as the man's features were revealed. "It will not open," the Count said needlessly, Renfield's hand still locked about the handle. Dracula could feel the man's pulse from across the room, frantic beneath his chest, his fear so pungent it carried on the air. Men often responded to him in this manner when they lost their senses, when they had seen what he was and felt the force of his fangs in their throat. Women submitted and became beguiled but men went mad. "You have nothing to fear," he continued. "I'm accustomed to barring my home; there are wolves in Transylvania."

Calm and luring was his voice, but it was not soothing the man before him, defiant despite every instinct compelling him to submit. "Not here there ain't," he protested, shrinking back against the door as Dracula towered over him. It was necessary for him to have a servant, someone he could control, someone to keep his house for him during the long hours in which he was forced to sleep. Dracula could not move about in daylight except in shadows and needed protection. Renfield was of a weak mind, impressionable, foolish, hampered by feelings of resentment for Jonathan Harker, but he would do.

"You must have patience with me," Dracula said. "You must try to understand me. I can reward you with a long and fruitful life, but I must have your loyalty. Can you give that?" It was not a difficult demand, one many other men had undertaken throughout the centuries, most of them abysmal failures but there was the occasional instance of true devotion. Most of them were gone. Dracula had seen them all to their ends, some more pleasant than others depending on their worth and dedication. Renfield would come to a bad end, but there was a spark of desire in him that compelled him to nod. "Then come," said Dracula, and indicated the dark passage behind them, prompting his companion to accompany him.

Faint memories were returning to Renfield, nothing pertaining to his master but images of recent turmoil that caused him to murmur, "I've been bit by a bat!"

Sweeping his cloak around the man's shoulders, Dracula answered, "So I see."

"Do you think I should have it looked at by that doctor at the loony bin?"

"No." Dracula did not conceal his disdain for the notion and his companion fell silent, following the Count deeper into the house. Scattered throughout it were his boxes of earth, several upstairs and more in the crypts beneath the stairs, dank, disintegrating rooms without natural light and removed from the rest of the estate by a series of locked doors that his master had no difficulty navigating through. The remains of hundred-year-old corpses littered the floors, sculls stacked in neat piles in corners and fragments of bones protruding from the floor. It was the custom in this part of the country for old and distinguished families to bury their dead together, new corpses among the old, eventually the oldest graves reused and the remains dumped in with the others. Renfield found this portion of the crypts disarming and his footsteps slowed as he followed his employer down the narrow stairs.

Pausing, Renfield asked nervously, "What are we down here for?"

"Come," his master commanded, lifting one hand and beckoning to him. Renfield could not resist his authority and went, going about his tasks with mindless obedience, for Dracula refused to answer any of his questions and efficiently silenced them with unflinching influence. It was only a few hours until dawn and there was much to accomplish. His boxes were moved where he wanted them, hidden in the labyrinth of rooms beneath the house, Renfield panting as he dragged them into place. Mina's blood flowed through the Count, an unusual quality to it that made him aware of her former weakness. In a short time, she would perish and he needed to be awake when she did. Compulsion would desire him to return to her side but he would resist, for there must be no suspicion cast upon him. The townspeople must not make any assumptions, and there would be few doubts, for her health had been in question for months. Everyone was waiting for her to die.

What no one anticipated was that she would again awaken.


	10. Chapter 10

It was a tiny sound that disturbed her, like a kitten pitifully mewing for its mother. Faint traces of light streamed into the room through the lace curtains, casting dancing shadows on the wall above the bed but Lucy was only aware of the unusual sound as it drifted into her consciousness. At first she did not know its origins before awareness sank in and she looked to her friend. Mina was resting flat on her back, staring upward as she gasped for air. Her skin was the color of death, dark circles spreading beneath her eyes as she fought against suffocation. "Mina," Lucy whispered, "what's wrong? What is it?"

There was no response other than labored gasps. Lucy sprang to her knees, grasping the bell pull with such force it nearly tore off the wall, jingling in the lower quarters of the house. "Poppa!" she screamed, "Poppa! Come quickly!" Lucy grasped Mina's hand, not knowing what to do and pleaded with her to come around, to tell her what was wrong. Behind her the door opened and her father entered, adjusting his glasses and blinking sleep from his eyes.

"What's wrong with her?" he asked as he pushed his daughter aside.

"She can't breathe!" Lucy was almost in tears, for she had never felt so helpless or been so frightened. Mina had been recovering, not dramatically but in subtle ways that indicated the clean country air was restoring strength to her lungs. Their daily outings and walks in the garden were putting warmth and color into her cheeks, but now her friend was fading before her eyes.

Mina trembled, fighting for her life, terrified as the doctor instructed her to take a deep breath. "My throat," she gasped. "I can't get any air!"

Sunlight danced above them and crept nearer the bed as Jonathan appeared, knotting his housecoat at the waist. "What happened?" he demanded. Lucy was pleading with her friend to try and calm down, and her father was looking on in a daze.

"I don't know; she's so white—asphyxia?" Seward was experiencing a rising panic, for he knew nothing of modern medicine, only the remedies his patients responded to. One of the women in the ward would hold her breath whenever she had a fit of temper and if no one forced her out of it, she would black out. The only means of controlling her was by violence, so he began to shake the frail form, gently slapping her face in an effort to revive her. Jonathan ran forward and Lucy cried out in distress but it was to no avail, for such a sound came from her that it silenced all of them, a long, guttural, incredible sound—a final breath leaving her body and trailing into nothingness. The magnificent eyes faded into a dull hue as her companions fell back in disbelief.

"Poppa, she's dead!" Lucy's strangled cry emerged through the hand clasped over her mouth, trembling as she reached forward to touch the side of her friend's face. It came out in a voice thick with unshed tears, her resolve crumbling as Mina's head dropped lifelessly to the side. Light flooded over them, its warmth unable to lift the chill in the room. It illuminated two faint marks on her neck and Lucy stared at them, her brow furrowing. "Look," she whispered and her father adjusted his glasses once more, peering nearsightedly at them. He had seen death so often in the asylum it no longer impacted him and without thought or regard for his daughter, he said with fascination, "Two punctures, not very large but not wholesome."

Staring at him incredulously, Lucy's voice was hysterical as she demanded, "Not _wholesome_? Poppa, what are you talking about?"

Her father sent a pleading glance at Jonathan, who pulled her from the bed. An arm protectively around her, he took her into the corridor as the doctor examined Mina's throat. Lucy was not four paces out the door before she burst into tears in the realization that her sweet, sincere friend was gone. It seemed a cruel impossibility that in previous hours they had been laughing over dinner and now her voice was silenced forever. Jonathan did his best to comfort her but she did not want him to touch her, wondering if she had been more attentive the night before and not spent hours with him, she might have helped Mina sooner. She could not look at him without hating him, and although she did not say it, he sensed the nature of her self-abhorrence and left her to mourn in solitude. The servants were appropriately informed, Mrs. Callaway coming to sit with Lucy in the hall as Mina was wrapped in a sheet and borne out on a stretcher.

Lucy entered in her wake and shifted her attention to the verandah. In all the confusion she had not noticed that one of the glass panels was broken. Turning the handle and opening the door, she found fragments of glass on the stones beneath. Kneeling to retrieve the nearest piece, Lucy held it for a long time, incapable of moving but sensing something sinister in it. Allowing it to slip once more through her fingers, she stood as Jonathan approached, her head turning only slightly to acknowledge him.

"You must come down and eat something," he said softly.

She did not argue and went with him to the dining room to wait for breakfast. Staring across the rippling grass outside the window, Lucy tried not to think of Mina's painful final moments or the fear in her eyes. Mina should have gone in her sleep, not gasping for breath. It filled her with anger as well as sorrow, forcing all out of her mind apart from self-loathing. Jonathan knew her mood was dark and said nothing as he sat beside her, fragments of her father's telephone conversation wafting in from the corridor.

"Twelve Van Rigelstadt, Amsterdam. Yes, Professor Abraham Van Helsing… now, read the whole thing back to me like a good girl."

In the distance could be seen Carfax Abbey. It was the first time she had thought of the Count since the previous evening and it filled her with dread to know he would have to be informed. The remembrance of his interest in taking Mina for a drive about the countryside caused a fresh wave of pain to course through her as she clasped her hands, resting her forehead against them. She ignored the tall figure that entered bearing a tray of tomatoes, eggs, and kippers in brown sauce. Lucy knew she could not force a bite down her throat, for it would close up. She didn't believe she would ever be able to eat again.

Jonathan thanked Swales as he slid it onto the table in front of them, abandoning the sideboard since it was apparent no one wanted to move. He drew the platter nearer and she murmured, "Nothing for me, thank you."

"Come on, you need your strength." Jonathan would not take no for an answer but also knew not to contradict her when she was in such a mood, for it was obvious that a fresh wave of tears was impending.

Voice breaking, Lucy said, "I should never have left her alone."

"That's preposterous. You had no way of knowing." Jonathan's voice was low so her father would not overhear them but the doctor was preoccupied with the incompetence on the other end of the line and shouted, "Mina has _died_. No, not _lied_, DIED. Telegraph—oh, come at once; your dear friend on this saddest of occasions, Jack Seward." There was a click as he hung up and entered the room, his face brightening when he saw the food. Drawing up a chair, he heaped his plate with eggs and fish, glancing in his daughter's direction as she murmured, "Van Helsing?"

"Yes. I do hope the professor gets it; that poor, poor man." Shaking his head, the doctor crammed a mouthful of kipper in his mouth.

Mournfully, Lucy whispered, "Poor Mina."

Her companions exchanged meaningful glances.

"Do you think it was her heart?" Jonathan asked.

"Or that pain in her head last night?" Lucy was grasping for anything to explain it, for it had been sudden and unexpected. She should have known, should have sensed it, should have listened to her instincts and remained with Mina. It was important to consider everything that had happened in the last few hours, from the conversation at dinner to the pleasant attentions of the Count. Her thoughts returned to him inexplicably and she was ashamed of them, turning to her father with pleading eyes, hoping he might offer some form of reassurance or explanation.

Both of them were looking at him so intently that the physician faltered. "I don't know. It's been so long since I've practiced real medicine." There were hundreds of unread medical journals in his study that he meant to go through, but in the constant responsibilities that accompanied his position at the asylum, he had very little time to read. Guilt arose in him with that realization, the sudden understanding that it had been foolish to entrust Mina to his care; he might have saved her had he known what to do. It haunted him and he forced it back into the corners of his mind, putting it aside as he had become accustomed to doing whenever faced with the loss of a patient.

His daughter's voice held a hint of an accusation. "Well, what do _you_ think killed her?"

"Killed her?" Seward repeated nervously. "That's an odd word. Yet there was no sign of disease." He did not want to admit that it could not have been heart failure, as his examination of the body had unearthed an unusual absence of blood in Mina's veins yet there was not a drop to be found in the bedclothes. He had sent for Van Helsing for more than one reason; this was such a disturbing matter it would not do to brush it aside without deeper consideration. Lucy had no need to know the details, and he hoped his feigned disinterest would turn her focus elsewhere. There was an awkward silence in which Lucy stared at him and he continued to eat, finding comfort in the presence of a distraction.

Jonathan ventured, "What about those marks on her neck?"

"Perhaps she injured herself fastening her shawl."

"Oh, Father, don't be absurd! You saw those wounds!" Pushing her chair back from the table, Lucy abandoned the room so they would not see her tears. The passing hours were slow and never-ending, even torturous. Mina had filled her life with so much life and grace, with happiness and endless conversation, and her absence made the house even more quiet and miserable. Even the inmates of the asylum were subdued, sensing the mood of sorrow in the main rooms. Plaintive appeals for Miss Lucy were rebuffed and she stayed upstairs, a book in hand with no desire to read as she stared out into the murky sunlight. There was no sign of the Count and she assumed he had been told. Resting her head against the windowpane, Lucy whispered, "Forgive me, Mina."

It was futile to ask, for Mina had always forgiven all trespasses, even the more grievous ones, but Lucy could not forget her behavior, the wanton selfishness in luring the Count into a dance. She had ruined the evening for her friend and drawn attention away from Mina when she needed it most. Mina should have perished knowing what love was like, with the taste of his lips on hers, not alone in the dawn struggling for breath. Mina had been so innocent and now would never know anything else, not affection or favoritism. She had not even been allowed to escort the Count about the countryside and bask in his gentle companionship. Lucy had danced in his arms and felt the intensity of his gaze. She could never forgive herself for it.

Jonathan came to speak with her but she was unresponsive so he left her alone and went to his room to fetch his papers. It felt wrong to attend to business in the midst of such sorrow but his partners in London would accept no excuses. He forced the necessary documents into a valise, pulled on his coat, and left the room. Halfway down the stairs he remembered the key he had used to inspect the property prior to its sale and turned around to fetch it. Taking the steps two at a time, he darted into his room and emerged once more. The movement captured Lucy's attention and he saw her looking disapprovingly at him before he descended, eager to be away from the house and the bleakness of her mood.

The drive to Carfax Abbey was pleasant and the air cool as he parked his automobile outside the wrought iron gates and walked to the side door. He knocked at the front but there was no answer so he took his key to the kitchen and peered in through the window. A rat was perched on the sill and it squeaked at him as he unlocked the door and entered, several unknown creatures scuttling away from him into the darkness. The house was dark and gloomy and his eyes did not rapidly adjust, looking in disdain at his surroundings as he pressed forward into the cobweb-infested entrance hall. "Hello?" he called. "Is anyone home? Hello?" His voice sounded faint in the echoing emptiness of the house and when no one answered, he bellowed, "Count Dracula!"

Melting out of the shadows at the head of the stairs, a formidable figure appeared in a long crushed velvet dressing gown, his movements subtle but his tone faintly mocking as he said, "You needn't shout, Mr. Harker. You frightened me."

"I'm sorry," the solicitor said, tightening his hold on the documents case. "I had a key. I had to let myself in." His eye fell on a spider as it crawled across the long table and longed to crush it but resisted the urge as he returned his attention to the Count.

Hours before, Dracula had gone to sleep in one of his boxes, the rich earth replenishing his mind, for it was the native soil of his beloved homeland. He could not rest without it. He had heard her final breath, been there when it faded, welcoming her into the depths of death in his arms. Most of the day had passed without merit but when he had arisen shortly before dusk, he had found his servant missing. Renfield was an untrustworthy sort, useful for only a short time, although his departure had been sooner than anticipated. In a tone that indicated he did not much care, he said, "I wonder where Renfield can be."

"I don't know. I knocked but he didn't…"

"Yes, well, the man is worthless. It doesn't matter, at any rate. You are here. Welcome, come up." He returned to his desk, where he had sat looking over his documents and ignoring the voice in the hall until it became imperative to answer it.

The solicitor ascended the shallow flight of stairs and was impressed with the Count's array of books, their titles looming in the darkness, the ornate furniture suiting his host, who extinguished the candle on his desk and carried whatever he had been reading into the shadows. His movements were subtle and elegant, everything about him romantic. Jonathan could see what women liked about him.

Slipping the ship's log behind the nearest book, Dracula knew they would never miss it in the rush of funeral arrangements. By the time the doctor realized it was gone, he would have no recollection of when he had last seen it and certainly would not suspect the Count. It was fortuitous Mina had died when she did; he had arranged her death for multiple purposes, as a distraction as well as releasing her from misery. She would suffer no more. He would see to that. Tonight, she would sleep, but soon he would teach her all she needed to survive.

He said, "I'm sorry to hear of Miss Van Helsing's death."

"You know already?" Jonathan was surprised, for the Count had no visitors. Few people had the courage to call on him, for most of the townspeople were superstitious and regarded his presence as disconcerting. There were already rumors that his arrival had coincided with Mina's death and therefore the two were linked, particularly in the light of the heinous deaths of the crew members that had accompanied him from Romania.

"News of death travels fast. She was very ill. I could tell last night when I looked into her eyes."

"Yes. She'd been frail all her life." Jonathan paused in remembrance. Mina had been sweet but dull. He was sorry for her death but did not allow it to impact him. "Here is your key," he said, offering it up on a long scarlet ribbon. "I only had it to inspect the property."

Removing it from his outstretched fingers, Dracula tossed it carelessly aside. "Yes, of course. Have you brought the original deed?"

Jonathan rummaged about in his case and removed a stack of papers as his companion sank into a chair behind the desk, melting into the shadows. "Yes, if you'd like to sign at the bottom, and some custom's documents for your crates. Now, I didn't know what to say of their contents…"

"Soil."

Dracula's pen moved rapidly across the parchment, scratching in the background as his companion stared at him. He had suspected there was something beneath the dirt, exotic seedlings or some other explanation for this peculiar behavior. Hesitantly, he asked, "Just plain dirt?"

"Transylvanian earth; I have a keen interest in Botany. Can you drive to London at once to record the deed?" He hoped the man would not linger long, for he would stand in the way of the Count's intentions. The fewer able-bodied individuals at the asylum, the easier it would be to recover Mina from her grave and see how far his influence might carry with Lucy.

Surprised at the man's insistence, Jonathan stammered, "No… tomorrow, I must stay with Lucy for the funeral." He saw a flash of annoyance in the Count's eyes that faded into pleasantness as he resumed attention to the deed. Lighting a small candle for the purpose of melting wax for his insignia, Dracula said, "Oh yes, of course. She's taking it…"

"Not well. She," Jonathan hesitated and the Count's attention flickered toward him, "blames herself. She was with me when Mina was taken ill." He felt it best to stress their indiscretion, to warn the Count that Lucy was spoken for.

Dracula was not surprised but disapproving that Jonathan would be so open with their behavior, concealing his true emotions behind subtle indications of understanding. "I see. Then you and Miss Seward will marry?"

It was such an old-fashioned question that Jonathan was taken aback by it. "Yes, well, I suppose so, if I can ever persuade her to settle down long enough."

This prompted a genuine smile, for the Count well knew her stubbornness. Scarlet wax dripped onto the creases of the deed and he pressed his signet ring into it. "Yes, she is stronger than most women, isn't she?"

His interest disconcerted Jonathan and the young man avoided answering it. "I should return," he said.

The Count made no effort to halt him but held out a sealed envelope in addition to the deed. "Mr. Harker, would you deliver this letter to Dr. Seward for me? I should like to offer his daughter and him the hospitality of my home after the funeral. You are welcome too, of course, but you _are _leaving, are you not?"

The tone of his voice made Jonathan uneasy and for the first time he wondered if it were wise to drive to London and leave Lucy. It could not be avoided, for his partners would wonder where he was, but there was a certain amount of satisfaction in the Count that implied Jonathan's departure would be useful to him. The solicitor scowled and accepted the document without comment, grateful to put the house and its mysterious occupant behind him.


	11. Chapter 11

Renfield could remember no day akin to this one in the entirety of his life, not in his happier moments or the worse instances of drunkenness. There were moments when the world seemed no more than a hallucination, but the pain in his neck and the unease of his mind made him aware that this was _not_ a reflection of his paranoia. Dracula had ordered him about as night wore into dawn, lingering in the shadows, his features more ghoulish as hours passed. The boxes of earth had been moved where he wanted them. Then Renfield had been dismissed and crept off to the kitchens to nibble on a stale crust of bread and rock back and forth on the floor, pondering what he could recall of the previous evening. Fragments returned to him, voices and shadows, the bat that had come swooping through the arch at him, causing him to tumble head over heels down the stairs and land in an unconscious heap. His stomach rumbled and he glanced around him, unable to see anything moving in the shadows. He could not shake the growing suspicion that his new master had been the bat. Why this occurred to him, he did not know, only that the instinct was growing stronger as afternoon wore toward evening. There was a shovel in the corner of the kitchen propped up against the cellar door and he laid hold of it, carrying it downstairs through the several ancient wooden doors into the foul-smelling crypts. The nearest box was empty of all but earth, but beyond it one rested with the lid firmly shut in place.

Approaching, Renfield hesitated, filled with an incomprehensible dread, and then flipped the top of the crate to the floor, where it settled with a puff of dirt. The Count rested on the rich black soil, arms at his sides, immaculate in a tailored black suit, eyes closed. He appeared dead. There was nothing unnatural in his appearance until Renfield looked closer and saw the trickle of blood at the corner of his crimson lips. It returned to him in a flash, memories of the Count throwing himself into the air and transforming into a bat, descending on his throat as he lay in a daze at the foot of the stairs. "God help us," the caretaker stammered, and dropping the shovel with a clang, turned and fled up the stairs.

He hid for the most of the afternoon, knowing when Dracula awakened, for his footsteps echoed through the house as he went in search of his servant. "Renfield!" he shouted. "Damn you! Come to me!"

Every instinct prompted obedience but Renfield was too terrified to answer, crammed beneath the stairs with his head on his knees. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a spider creeping along the floor and stuffed it into his mouth, attempting to placate his hunger. Eventually, the Count gave up and all fell quiet. Only when darkness was descending did Renfield creep from his hiding place and slip out into the gardens, relieved when a shiny black automobile came around the corner of the house and parked in the drive. Jonathan Harker stepped out of it and strode toward the house, whistling a merry tune. Renfield did not care who came to his rescue as he bolted to the car and clambered into the backseat, making himself as small as possible on the floor.

Time crept by but eventually rapid footsteps brought Jonathan once more from the house. The car shifted as he cranked the front and climbed in, the engine revving as he turned them around and drove out onto the road, the head lamps gleaming into the darkness. "Bloody mess, this is," he muttered as he navigated the narrow lanes. "It's a damned, bloody mess." He shifted and suddenly swerved as a figure arose in the back, grasping hold of him in a mad, blind panic. The car screeched to a halt and Jonathan attempted to fight off the man, who was all but smothering him in desperation.

"Take me to the hospital!" Renfield gasped, once more capable of speech now that they were several miles away from his master. "Help me get away from the castle! You've got to help me! Help me! You've got to save me! Please, you've got to save me!" He continued to grab at the driver until Jonathan punched him in the jaw, sending him crashing into the backseat. Lifting the man by his lapels and finding no further fight in him, the solicitor released him and they stared at one another in mutual contempt.

From the branches of a nearby tree, a bat tittered at them in a noise that sounded eerily like laughter. Jonathan found it merely odd but it sent his companion to hysterics and with difficulty, he was subdued. Ordinarily, it would have pleased Jonathan to take his rival, the man who spread such malicious rumors about him in the township, to the asylum, but this recent deranged behavior disarmed him. It took three men to wrestle Renfield from the car into the mental ward, babbling incoherently about his master's anger. He was forced into a straight jacket and flung into a cell where another equally unstable individual was housed, his eyes enormous as he watched them pin down Renfield in order to administer laudanum.

"He promised me lives!" Renfield insisted as the drug began to take hold. "Not little lives—flies and spiders—but big ones! Human lives!" He gave up resistance and melted into submission as blunt scissors were used to tame his wild hair, eventually closing his eyes and submitting to a welcome darkness.

Jonathan and Dr. Harker watched from beyond the doorway, the older man cleaning his spectacles on his shirtfront and replacing them on his nose. He peered into the small room as Swales emerged, his features no more cross than usual, and said, "He's quieted now, won't wake until the morning."

"And you say he was acting like this when you found him?" The doctor turned to his companion and Jonathan, still staring at his former rival in disbelief, nodded.

"Yes. He was senseless, out of his wits. He assaulted me in my car outside Carfax." Jonathan hated the asylum, for it contained the worst dregs of human society, the madness of the lower classes, and on occasion a forgotten aristocrat thrown there for safekeeping, away from public acknowledgement. He stepped out of the way of an older patient who passed sucking his thumb and motioned toward the stairs. "Might we discuss this outside?"

Fascinated by his newest guest, Dr. Seward looked at him in confusion. "Huh? OH! Yes, of course… Swales…?"

"I'll see to it," the gruff older man agreed, and with gratitude Jonathan led them through the iron gates into the rest of the house. It was much quieter here, away from the screams and weeping that drifted from the upper wards. Some of the patients were submissive and content and others furious at their imprisonment, using any excuse to hurl insults and profanities at their keepers. Dr. Seward was at a loss what to do with them without his daughter's assistance, but Lucy was in such a state of sorrow that no one wanted to disturb her. Mina had been carried into the morgue under the asylum and laid out on one of the stone slabs to await her burial the following morning. It would not do to prolong it for longer than necessary and arrangements had been made in haste; they could not wait for the arrival of her father. There had been a heartbroken telegram from him that afternoon informing them of his intended arrival the next evening and including his sadness at the passing of his daughter. Jonathan had witnessed their expressions when they had read it, an exchange of guilt and newfound sadness that had taken Lucy from the room without a word and sent her father into a melancholy silence. Dr. Seward now sought something, _anything_, as a distraction and Jonathan provided it, having driven up to the house with a raving maniac in the back seat.

"They said Renfield would lose his mind eventually," Seward muttered. "Living in that ghastly old house alone for these many years… you saw the Count, then?"

"Yes. He sends his condolences—and this." Jonathan removed the envelope from his pocket, badly mangled from his struggle with Renfield, and handed it over, resenting the penmanship that flowed across the front. The doctor broke the seal and opened it, peering dimly through his thick glasses at the invitation. It was an eloquent and divinely expressed indication of the Count's sadness on their behalf, as well as an appeal for them to share dinner at his home after the funeral, for he would not attend out of respect, having only known Mina a short time. Finding this of some comfort, the doctor remarked on how agreeable their neighbor was and continued down the hall.

Supper was a strained affair, for Lucy no more than picked at her food, her eyes red from a day of mourning and retired early. Mina's things remained in her chambers and she ran her fingers over the trunk that contained her precious belongings, from her favorite gowns and trinkets to photographs and letters from her father. The key hung on a ribbon in the wardrobe and Lucy unlocked it, her friend's scent of jasmine and crushed rose petals rising to meet her as she knelt beside it on the thin rug. It hurt to look through those things but was also a comfort to her as she pressed Mina's journal against her chest and fought back tears. "My darling Mina," she whispered.

Placing the contents once more into the trunk, she added a few more of Mina's belongings, knowing her father would want to take everything back to Amsterdam with him. Van Helsing was a very old but compassionate man, renowned in the ways of the world and wise but uncorrupted by them. He had sought to protect his daughter and her innocence and it had been a blessing to be trusted with her. The silver-framed image Mina kept of him on the bedside table depicted his likeness but not his generosity or kindness. Lucy looked at it before placing it with the rest and closing the lid. Undressing and slipping into her nightclothes, she sat on the bed and stared at the pillow where her friend's head should have rested. Biting her lip, she drew in her breath and then moved to the door.

She had to see Mina one last time.

The scent of death was not unfamiliar to him, but here it was more pungent, for smells were worse in the asylum. The morgue was a temporary place of rest for the unfortunate souls who threw themselves off roofs or over railings, who perished in their sleep or met other ends under the care of Dr. Seward and his attendants. Tonight it was the chamber in which the remains of his daughter's dearest friend awaited burial. Mina's beauty was remarkable, her skin like marble beneath the faintly flickering light of the torches set into grooves along the far walls. Gently curling hair rested about her shoulders and she wore a gown Lucy had chosen for her. No one sensed his presence, not even the dead, for she remained unmoving in his approach from the shadows, melting out of them effortlessly, looking on her with affection and marveling in the perfection of his handiwork. Dracula was pleased at her appearance, so innocent that it would prompt no suspicion.

"Mina," he whispered and although she did not move he felt a shudder pass through her, responding to his voice in her deepest consciousness though her body remained silent. "You must wait a little longer." He reached out to caress the side of her face, finding it cold and unresponsive. It had been many years since he had turned anyone and the thought of instructing her in the ways of their kind excited him, for she was like his pet, his daughter now that he had removed her from the harsh realities of the world. Suffering was behind her and she would join him in amusing herself with the trivialities of mankind rather than participating in them. But she would need another companion. While she said not a word to him in the depths of her sleep, he could hear her in the distance, a whisper that amounted to a single word: "_Lucy_…"

It threaded through his veins, haunting him, for he too desired her, more intensely than any other woman he had ever known. There had been hundreds of wives to share his solitude over the centuries but none attracted him as much as the young woman of defiance, her will fighting his influence even as her mind compelled submission. She was not like the others, weak and willing, easily manipulated and controlled, for she refused to allow anyone to guide her actions. It was a temptation beyond comprehension, for it was dangerous. Mina's death was suspicious enough; Lucy's would be even more so. He had come to England to thrive among the upper class, to learn the traditions of Whitby, to vanish in London; to tarry here among the superstitious locals placed them both in peril. But was that not what he thrived on, what gave him the most enthusiasm? He had fled Transylvania in search of excitement, hoping to abate his boredom, and here she was before him, a challenge to test his influence and resolve but also one he feared would conquer what remained of his heart.

Footsteps alerted him to her presence and he vanished into the gloom as Lucy descended, faltering as she caught sight of her friend on the stone slab. For an instant she wavered and then entered, approaching to place her hands on the edge of the table and stare into the tranquil features. The horror Mina had experienced in death had faded, leaving her pristine and so lifelike Lucy half anticipated her to awaken, give a girlish giggle, and ask, "Whatever is the matter with my darling Lucy?" Her quiet mannerisms and encouragements were of such comfort it was odd to be without them now, forced to relive only a memory.

Her fingers reached out and hovered over the soft brown curls; unable to touch them, she drew them back. "I am sorry to have forsaken you, Mina," she whispered. The room around her grew heavy and she closed her eyes, unaware of the presence behind her. Dracula did not touch her but an inner sensation in her spirit felt him there even if she could not see him. Her breathing deepened as her pulse slowed, her fingers resting on the slab inches from her lifeless companion. Dracula's hands glided over her arms without touching her and came to rest on her wrists, standing near enough to press his lips into the curls at the nape of her neck. Lucy drew in her breath.

A sound came to her, Jonathan calling for her in the upper hall. The presence behind her evaporated in a trail of mist and her senses returned, heaviness fading as she became aware of her surroundings. Kissing her friend's cold forehead, Lucy ran up the stairs, intending to encounter Jonathan in the corridor so he would not know where she had been. He was relieved to see her and came to take her hands, surprised to find her so cold.

"Tomorrow, after the funeral, would you come with me to London? It may help take your mind off… _things_." Jonathan was hesitant in this proposal, not knowing if she would take offense.

Lucy looked at him expressionlessly, for once her intent eyes unreadable. "London?"

"I must take the deeds from Carfax to my office there, but we could spend a day or two on the coast. I thought you might want to get away for awhile." He hoped she would not sense his true motivations; he had paced his room for more than an hour in contemplation of this attempt to liberate her from sorrow, preoccupied by the knowledge the Count intended to see her. Dr. Seward would not object. It was for the best. He clasped her hands and pleaded with his eyes for her to accept, wanting to see even a faint remnant of a smile on her face once more, for the light had gone out of her. Mina had taken the last of it in her harrowing final breath.

It was not an impossible or insensitive notion but as Lucy considered abandoning the asylum and her father in such an hour, she could not in good conscience accept. "I think not," she said, withdrawing her fingers and ascending the stairs.

"Please, Lucy! I don't want to see you stay here in misery."

Turning on her heel outside her bedroom door, Lucy demanded, "What am I supposed to do, Jonathan? Pretend nothing happened? That Mina is not laying dead downstairs? That I did not hold her in my arms while she took her last gasping breath?" Her voice intensified and rang down the corridor, causing him to glance in the direction of her father's room, hoping her anger would not encourage him to venture out. "Honestly, there are times when you are the most insensitive man I have ever known!"

Before he could protest or offer an apology, she wrenched the door handle behind her and entered, slamming it in his face. The sound reverberated in the lower quarters and he turned to find several servants peering up at him through the banister railing. Dr. Seward's door opened a few inches and on seeing him there, rapidly closed again, indicating the entire house had been listening. Swales scowled at him from the foot of the stairs.

"I was merely trying to be nice," he muttered and crossed to his own room. He would go to London the next day on his own and maybe not come back at all. Then she would be sorry for having shouted at him.

Or perhaps, he realized with a sudden shudder, she wouldn't care at all.


	12. Chapter 12

It was an appropriate day for a funeral. The brisk wind from the north tousled the delicate white flowers in the garden, Mina's favorites among the vast collection of roses, now dead for the season, as winter was upon them. Still, a few blossoms thrived amidst the headstones, their petals trembling in the breeze as the mourners gathered to bid farewell. No more than a handful of people had known Mina and the array of faces gathered at the graveside was more for the benefit of Lucy than anyone else, for all knew how much the loss grieved her. Annie and her baby attended, their grim faces outlined against the grayness of the day, a light dusting of clouds preventing the sun from casting dancing shadows across the plain wooden casket. At the forefront stood the minister, droning through the customary traditions, while Lucy tightened her hands around a lace handkerchief and occasionally dabbed her eyes. She knew Mina would have found the mourners amusing and been delighted at their appearance, but thought it peculiar the Count was not among them.

"He thought it would be inappropriate," her father confided when she mentioned his lack of an appearance, "having known her only a short time." His eyes were empty behind the rims of his glasses, indicating he had not slept. Lucy had found it difficult too, dreading the task before them.

"_I am the resurrection and the life. He that believeth in me, yea though he were dead yet shall he live…_" The pastor stood before the narrow white casket adored with a handful of wildflowers, his book open in his broad fingers. Scattered among the graves were various members of staff and a handful of people from the village, those who had known her and others wishing to pay their respects. There were a handful of curious bystanders who would not meet Lucy's unwavering gaze. Even as her heart broke, there was a hint of resentment in her toward anyone whose fascination was due to the suddenness of the event.

"… _and whosoever believeth in me shall never die. I know that my redeemer liveth and that I shall rise out of the earth on the last day and shall be covered again with my skin and shall see the Lord in my flesh. Behold, I show you mystery. When the trumpet shall sound, the dead shall be raised incorruptible and we shall be changed_…"

The gravediggers stood at a slight distance, caps in hand, watching and waiting for their task to resume. Lucy could not help staring at them, hating the men who would soon shovel fresh earth over the remains of her dearest friend. Mina hated dark, narrow spaces. It was strange how bleak her thoughts were and she shook them from her mind as the pastor continued, "_Death, where is thy sting? Oh, grave, where is thy hatred?_"

He went on for some time and then prayed, encouraging the diggers to come and carefully lower the casket into the ground. As each shovelful fell, Lucy felt further away from her friend, wondering how soon she would forget the turn of her face, the brightness of her eyes, and the sound of her voice. It was impossible that she was gone, yet no one could awaken her from this nightmare. Instinct compelled her to throw a handful of earth into the grave and when she turned away, a smallish figure stepped into her path. It was one of the women from town, clutching a crucifix in one hand as she reached out the other to halt her.

"You must be careful of him," she said.

Lucy stared at her, asking, "Who?"

"You know who." The woman turned to point in the direction of Carfax Abbey, distant among the trees. "There was no death until he came. Then the blood poured like rain and so many perished… dogs, and laughter, and lives, human lives, your friend. Take care, Miss Seward, for he is a harbinger of Death." She pressed the crucifix to her lips and hastened away, joining the others on their way out of the cemetery. Lucy stared after her, incredulous, and winced as Jonathan hastened toward her. Deliberately moving ahead of him down the path to the asylum, she said, "Please don't ask me again. The answer remains the same."

Hat in hand, Jonathan followed on her heels. "I don't see why. It's no good to stay around here feeling sorry for yourself, feeling guilty for no reason." The wind caressed his hair and lifted it away from his face, taking the narrow steps two at a time in order to keep pace with her trim figure. Parked in the narrow drive was his automobile, awaiting his departure.

"You don't understand, Jonathan. I don't want to feel happy, to feel silly, not now." Lucy glanced toward the diggers laboring to put her dear sweet friend beneath the earth and felt a wave of unhappiness, a melancholy she knew would only intensify as the afternoon wore on. It felt wrong to contemplate going with Jonathan, to think about enjoying herself when there was so much to mourn. Mina kept her there, preventing any thought of happiness.

He looked at her for a time and nodded, turning his cap over in his hands as he approached the car. He'd hoped to take her with him, to get her away from this place and its newest resident, to help her forget her sadness, but it was apparent that she would not let him. "Then I'll come back tomorrow night."

Without even thinking, the abruptness of her response shocked them both. "You needn't. I can manage." Lucy did not want him there, for he polluted what remained of her fondest memories, his constant attempts to lift her spirits disrespectful in the wake of recent losses. She needed time alone to think and be away from reminders of her role in Mina's death. It pained him at first but rapidly turned into resentment; a touch of anger surfaced as he asked, "Can you?"

It was more of an accusation than an inquiry and she said nothing as he climbed behind the wheel of the car, but comprehension of how it would be if she allowed it to end there prompted her to go forward, catching his arm. "Jonathan," she said, "let's not part enemies."

Mustering a smile that did nothing to conceal his bitterness, he assured her, "We're not enemies," and pulled away without a second glance.

Lucy felt peculiar at his departure, unsettled, slightly angry at his behavior, for he was unable to understand the depth of her emotions. Closing her hand into a fist, she forced aside her annoyance as her father struggled up the steps after her, panting slightly from the steepness of the climb. "Lucy! Oh, Lucy! Mina's father, Professor Van Helsing, is arriving from Paris this evening, and we shall have to meet him. I'm afraid we will be unable to take advantage of Count Dracula's kind invitation to dinner."

Throughout the funeral the good doctor had managed not to pillage his pockets for sweets but now pulled a wrinkled brown sack of hard candies from the general store out of his coat pocket. Lucy looked at him strangely and arched her brow as she searched her memory for a recollection of what he spoke of. "Invitation to dinner?" she repeated. "You didn't tell me."

"Didn't I?" Her father shrugged it off, picking out one of the hard round candies he was so fond of. "Well, it doesn't matter now. I'll have to send word around excusing us."

It came out of her mouth before she had a chance to stop it, a reflex that caused her to say, "No, I'll go." She wanted to see the Count, to allow him to remind her of the wonderful evening in which all of them had experienced such happiness, when laughter and conversation presided at dinner and he was so kind to Mina. He would understand her sadness better than any of the others, for there was an aura of sorrow about him. Dracula was of an old family; he would comprehend the depths of her loss.

"Go?" Her father was astonished. "I should have thought you'd rather—"

"As a courtesy," she insisted, finding her mood heightened already. Leaving him on the terrace, she returned to the house, his explanation that a carriage was being sent around at eight falling on deaf ears.

It was strange not to have Mina indoors, to go from one room to another and not encounter the lightness of her footstep or the delicacy of her features. It felt empty without her, meaningless, the sadness of her passing infecting the corridors and carpets, the books she had caressed with tender fingers and conversations held on the verandah. Lucy could not stand to linger, for she knew she would only stare out over the cemetery, watching as the last of the earth was shoveled into place. Changing into something more suitable, she went to work in the asylum. The many people who needed her, wanted to talk to her, who allowed her to read them to sleep, provided her with distraction enough that she did not dissolve into tears.

Hours passed in which no sensible thought crossed her mind, weary of her heartache and longing to awaken and find this nothing more than a bad dream. But Mina was still gone when she returned to her room as the shadows lengthened, her trunk still pushed up against the far wall. The framed photograph taken of them the previous summer in a London park rested on her dressing table and Mina's face stared up at her as she carefully arranged her hair. Lucy wondered if it was wrong to go to dinner with the Count, if she were betraying her friend. It was not that she wanted to move on, to forget, to pretend it had never happened so much as welcome his reassurances, to talk with him, for she felt he would not condemn her dark secrets.

The wardrobe contained many gowns and she ran her fingers across them, choosing a deep velvet garment that flattered her contours. Mina had always loved that dress and it was in her honor that she wore it. Gathering up her cloak, Lucy passed down the corridor and learned her father had just left for the station. The Count had sent his carriage and it was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs, Swales assisting her within. From the firm line of his mouth she sensed his disapproval; it was inappropriate for her to see their esteemed neighbor alone. He was more like a father to her than her own father at times, but refrained from sharing his opinion as he stepped back and signaled to the driver. They pulled away with a churning of wheels through the soft earth of the road, for it had been cool enough that standing pools of water lingered from the storm.

Moonlight wavered through the clouds and cast shifting silver shadows over the tops of the trees as they followed the winding road toward the distant manor of Carfax. The faint sound of far away wolves lifted the hair on the back of her neck and she stared at the passing trees with a blend of enthusiasm and trepidation. Her argument with Jonathan wore heavily on her mind, merely the most recent in a series of quarrels that always ended with him departing to sulk and her fuming at him for days at a time. These affairs were made up with passionate kisses and promises of no repeat performances, but this time she felt no inclination to forgive him, for he had been callous. Mina meant more to her than anyone in the world and her loss was far more devastating than he seemed to realize. "Jonathan, why must you torment me so?" she whispered, and nothing answered from the darkness, only the jingle of harnesses and the quiet thump of the horses' hooves.

Lean trees gave way to carved stone and old iron gates admitted them with a creak, opened by unseen hands. Most of the foliage on the grounds was dead, grasping tendrils that reminded her of skeletal hands, but in the moonlight there was a mystical element to the place. It had been abandoned for years and she wondered what the Count intended to do with it, for it was in disrepair, from a sunken east wing to chipped statues peering from the roof's edge. They rounded a fountain that had not seen water in fifty years and paused before the ornate stone steps. Lucy was accustomed to being waited on but nothing happened. The driver did not leap down to assist her so she opened the door and stepped out. Turning, she saw there was no one on the seat. The door swung out of her hand and the horses pulled the carriage away into the darkness, heading in the general direction of the stables.

Wind caressed the fallen leaves at her feet and blew them toward the gray gardens. Lucy repressed a shudder and mounted the steps, approaching the towering double doors and reaching for the knocker, but it swung open before her fingers fell on the smooth handle. As a child, she had only once been to the manor. Her father had gone to confirm the death of the owner and she had been told to wait in the entrance. It was as she remembered, a massive hall filled with grotesque stonework. Most of the arches were eerie-looking faces with gaping mouths and candelabras cast flickering shadows across the rough stone walls. There were no servants to greet her and timidly she called out, "Hello?" Her voice echoed in the emptiness of the place and the door closed behind her with a bang that caused her to jump. Lucy felt her heart increase its pace as she called out again but no one answered.

It was not that he did not want to go to her, but that he was watching her from the shadows. Dracula stood in the upper corridor, molded to the darkness, observing her countenance and uncertainty in her surroundings. She was not afraid but guarded, even irritated that she was left alone. Rather than allow her to linger too long, he descended from the gloom. "Good evening," he said, and she turned to him with obvious relief. "Welcome to Carfax Abbey, Miss Seward."

Candlelight softened his features and she did not know how to react to his imposing form poised at the head of the stairs. The folds of his cloak moved about him in a ripple of black satin as he drew nearer to her, purposefully. "Thank you," she said. It was an old house, full of memories that threatened to envelop her, as if in the very floor beneath their feet lived the blood of its former inhabitants. Dracula's comment about new houses lingered in her mind as she moved toward him, for she understood what he found fascinating in this place. It suited him.

"I regret that Mr. Harker and your father were unable to join us."

Lucy looked at him with a hint of a smile and he sensed she was aware of his lie and not entirely disapproving. Extending his hand to her, he said, "Let me see to your comfort."

Her fingers fell into his and he led her out of the main corridor into one of the secondary rooms, a comfortable space filled with hundreds of candles and delicate European furniture. It was intimate and pleasant, and she looked at the majestic oil paintings and vases from his collection as he removed her coat. Long fingers slid along with the fabric down her arms, sensuously tracing the pattern of her garment, but he was not overbearing or forward, throwing it along with his cloak over the back of the nearest divan. "I fear my only servant has run off," he remarked, "so you will be forced to contend with me as a host this evening."

"Oh, yes, Renfield," she said, remembering the curious little man who had long entertained a rivalry with Jonathan. "He was brought to the asylum." Nervous at his nearness, she touched the back of her neck and accepted his invitation to be seated at the long table. Dracula drew out her chair effortlessly and she sank into it, marveling that his movements were so studied and distant, even cat-like in their methodical intent.

Dracula turned to the tray at the sideboard and began to ladle out soup, steaming hot and so thick and heavily scented it aroused her hunger. He was not surprised at the whereabouts of his former companion but that he was so near his potential adversaries troubled him. "So that is where he has gone," he remarked. "No matter, the man was idle and all but worthless. I trust he is not too much trouble?"

"Father said he was raving like a madman, but that means nothing, for most of them do, these days." Lucy spoke without thought, for she had not considered the shift in the mood at the asylum; most of the inhabitants were harmless but deranged, content to wander about with sacks over their heads or wash their hands in invisible waterfalls, but of late they had begun to remark on morbid things, of death and impending doom. Her father was at a loss and Swales thought nothing of it, but in the wake of Mina's departure from this world into the next, it filled her with sudden sadness.

Resting his hand on the back of her high, arched wooden chair, the Count said softly, "Today was a sad day, for even the skies were bleak and mourned her absence." He too thought of Mina, resting in her coffin beneath the earth, knowing she would awaken soon. Illness would abandon her forever, and she would be more beautiful in death than in life.

Lucy smiled through her tears, thanking him silently with her eyes as he placed the soup before her and went to his chair at the far end of the table. She would have liked him nearer, but propriety dictated distance, surrounded by the warmth of candlelight. Lowering her spoon into the china bowl, she lifted it to her lips and a rich, hot substance passed through them. Warmth crept through her and she looked at him in surprise.

"Transylvania is known for its many delights, not the least of them being my mother's soup." Dracula had not made it in centuries, for he rarely entertained humans, but remembered the taste from childhood. His mother had been a woman of great virtue and unfathomable kindness but her limitations had been revealed when he had abandoned the church for immortality. Their estrangement had angered him at the time but faded into nothingness in the long years since, for he had bid farewell at her bedside in the final hours of her life without offering to save her. She would have condemned him for it, so he had watched her suffer and die, enduring great agonies in not being able to intervene. "May God have more mercy on her than I did," he whispered.

"Were you young when she left you?" Lucy sensed a similar sadness to hers in his voice, not having heard his remark but knowing from his expression that his mother was long gone.

He looked at her strangely; he supposed he _had _been young by the world's standards, though he should have been fifty or more when she drew her last breath. His transformation had taken place at thirty, an age he remained in spite of centuries of existence. That Lucy had compassion for him in the wake of her own grief was astounding. "Not so young that I needed her, but not so old that I would not miss her counsel," he answered.

Wine shimmered in the crystal goblet beneath her fingers, accompanying the gleam in her eye as she watched him. There was something different about both of them away from the others; a quietness, almost a stillness that eased all her concerns and lessened the burdens of her heart. "I would like to believe Mina has gone to a better place," she said listlessly, attempting to erode memories of her friend from her mind. Mina would have been frightened of his house but would have borne it for the pleasure of their remarkable companion. "And she will no longer suffer."

"No, she will not," he agreed.

She would never suffer again.


	13. Chapter 13

It was a long way from Holland to England and the heartache of his daughter's death made it an even more difficult journey for Professor Helsing as the last league of the trip stretched out before him. Darkness crowded around the compartment and obscured the passing countryside, his companion dozing against the back of his seat. The distant lights of Whitby station came into sight and he stood to gather his things, exchanging a distracted farewell with the man in the opposite seat, who awakened at the slowing train and blinked sleep from his eyes. The professor stumbled out into the night air. Ghostly pale and uncertain on his feet, if it were not for the appearance of his oldest friend he might have collapsed from exhaustion. But the round face beneath the crooked bowler hat was familiar in the light of the station-house, his voice welcome against the torrent of questions spiraling through his mind. The telegram had been abrupt and kind but devastating. Mina was dead. There was nothing he could have done. The circumstances were tragic but unavoidable, two words a father never desired to hear.

"In my own house!" his friend was saying with open distress. "How could I ever…"

He had been promised Mina would fare well in England; the weather would be good for her; constant walks and trips into town might restore her faltering constitution. He had been right at first. Even her doctors had noted an improvement, but now she was gone without a word or a warning. It was unfathomable to him, unforgivable, utter madness. Thousands of miles worth of ruminating pain surfaced in his voice as he demanded, "What happened? What in God's name _could_ have happened?"

"I don't know," his friend said miserably. He had pondered that question relentlessly since her death in an effort to understand it. Steam issued around them from the train and a servant from the asylum staggered in the distance with the man's luggage. Dragging the trunk in the direction of the waiting coach, the others fell into step behind him, Van Helsing clinging to his friend's arm as if it would grant him answers.

"Jack, you must explain to me from the begging as patiently as you can."

The doctor shook his head. "I am baffled."

"Still, you must tell me it all. Do not spare my feelings. I must know." The professor opened the door of the carriage and stepped within, fixing his friend with an intense stare Dr. Seward found unnerving. Their driver hoisted the luggage up and secured it with a rope before climbing in front. They pulled away from the station and swayed down the road toward the distant lights of the abbey, glowing against the far hill.

Returning his thoughts to recent days was painful, for it forced the physician to admit he had lost more than a patient. It was easy to dismiss the death of most of his patients, for he did not form attachments to them. They were mere inhabitants of his mental institution, but Mina had been delightful, endearing and sweet, constant in her affection and desirous of making everyone happy. She had been like a daughter to him, except in his administration over her health. It pained him to admit he had not been as careful as he might have been with Lucy.

"For some weeks she had been showing improvement, but for the last few days was displaying unnatural tendencies. Listlessness, mostly, and a lack of appetite, but her color was good and she seemed in high spirits. Then she fainted the other night. I should have known something was wrong. I did look at her before bed and gave her a mild sedative, but she … parted from us the next morning."

They were not a mile from Carfax and his eyes were drawn to it, finding it mostly dark, towering in its obscurity. It was strange to know the Count now occupied it and he wondered if Lucy had returned. He could not imagine never seeing her again, sending her away and not knowing for certain she would come home. Seward understood the depths of his friend's pain, for it reminded him of the loss of his wife. That was what had kept them close over the years, their mutual grief—and in a way what had defined their daughters as friends.

Van Helsing was quiet as he asked, "Of course, you examined her with great care?"

"There were no functional causes, none. She'd been nervous, certainly, sleepwalking…"

Memories of the days following his wife's death returned in full force: his daughter wandering the corridors of the house and pulling at the latch of the front door. _"She will not do it long," the nurse had promised him. "It is just her pain."_ Mina had not walked in her sleep for many years, and the thought of her walking the halls of the asylum brought a chill to his veins. It had been madness to send her here, even in the company of friends.

"… nightmares," continued Seward. "I prescribed laudanum."

His companion turned to him in astonishment. "What? _Laudanum_?" Disapproval was evident in his tone, for it was not a commonly administered drug and certainly controversial. He had seen its negative effects in his colleagues and the most proficient journals in the world agreed it often did more damage than good. Mina would have been more than _placated_ by it; she would have been rendered _insensible_ by it.

"For nervous prostration," his friend hastened to explain.

One of the professor's dark brows arched and he said nothing. Nothing could be heard beyond the jostling of the harnesses and turning of the wheels. The dim lights of Carfax shimmered through the trees as they turned onto the winding road to the asylum. Van Helsing repressed the anger stirring in his soul and offered, "But a great loss of blood? _How_?"

"I do not know, for we found none of it. Mina lost it in her sleep but it was nowhere in the room, not on the carpet or in the bedclothes. It is as if it simply vanished from her veins. I know you are a superstitious man, my friend. I am not, for I have found that all things can be explained through science… until now. I admit I am baffled and almost prepared to believe in devils."

Not in the forty years of their friendship had Seward ever admitted a belief in the supernatural, for he was a scholar of medicine rather than the divine, but Van Helsing had made it a study for most of his adult life. He had witnessed things in his travels that could not be explained except through spiritual forces, and spent much time in the company of priests familiar with the darker specters of this world. He had not known for certain his daughter's death had been unnatural when he had set out from home, but as the coach drew up before the manor and the door opened to let them out, he wondered if his deepening concerns were not justified.

It was strange to speak of death in such a beautiful place as Carfax, for the warmth of the candlelight softened their surroundings and bathed it in an ethereal hue, but so much loss in recent hours made Lucy incapable of abandoning her sadness and in her companion she found a willing source of compassion and understanding. Dracula told her of his mother, his sadness at her parting, and the anguish in his heart in his belief he would never see her again. She found it strange that he did not share his mother's faith, for she had been a devout woman of unyielding virtues.

"Her passion for the church was equal to mine for life," Dracula said. "I could never quite fathom her devotion."

"Then you have no faith in an afterlife." Lucy drew him from his thoughts and his eyes returned to her face, lessening in their intensity as he considered her remarkable beauty. It was external but also internal, her strength as alluring as her physical form. Women were unnatural creatures, unfathomable to most men and alluring to him, but he had never encountered one whose hold over him was so powerful. Maybe it was because Lucy fought him; she was not like the others who yielded to his will without resistance. Or perhaps it was the passion he sensed in her for something greater than society could offer. Lucy wanted to be powerful, to experience what life had to offer, but remained bound by social restrictions. Even her relationship with Jonathan was unequal, for he was not worthy of her.

Dinner had long since been eaten and put on the sideboard, the intimacy of their presence increased through conversation more than his nearness, for he maintained his distance, not wishing to unnerve her. "I do not believe in a conventional afterlife, no, but I do believe in life after death. Mine is a superstitious country, Miss Seward. There are the beliefs of the Church to which my mother ascribed, and the teachings of the gypsies, who believe in ghosts. My philosophies are neither, but I do think there _are _means in which to linger after death."

"When I was young," Lucy responded, "there was a visiting spiritualist in London. I persuaded Mina to slip out of school with me in order to go see him, but she was so frightened she would not go in." She smiled as she recalled Mina's reluctance, her nervousness, her insistence that it would be toying with dark forces. Her arguments had fallen on deaf ears and she had remained in the outer hall while Lucy had gone in to view the spectacle. "It was foolish but I hoped my mother would speak to me, single me out of the crowd."

Beneath her confession was an echo of pain he understood. Dracula knew spiritualists to be frauds and charlatans, masters of illusion without a true grasp of immortality. More than once he had made an appearance at their performances and they did not know what to make of him. Sometimes they sensed him in the audience and unease passed through them, while others continued without regard for his nearness.

Lucy lowered her chin and stared at her hands, resting quietly beneath the table. "Mina was so young."

Maintaining a constant focus on her, Dracula said, "So are you."

"Tonight, I feel positively ancient."

Golden tendrils glistened in the depths of her dark hair, light cascading down her slender throat and pooling in the darkness of the fabric beneath. He longed to go to her but resisted, desiring her to reach out to him. "There are worse things than death," he said softly. "You must believe me." He wanted her to know life did not end with death but begins, but knew she could not fathom his meaning, even hate him for it… until he could show her Mina and she could see the change in her dearest friend. Lucy thought of her as buried beneath the earth, having reached the end of her usefulness, not as the powerful, beautiful nymph of the night that she would become.

"If there are, I can't imagine them." Lucy's voice was tired, broken, and full of weariness. She wanted the pain to end but could not bear relinquishing it. Shadows closed in around them as the lateness of the hour became more apparent, the candles burning nearer to the stubs and wax dripping in eerie formation down the stands.

Throughout the evening his expression had remained pleasant and now did not shift but there was a haunted aspect to his eyes that matched the yearning in her heart. "I have buried many friends and I too am weary. I am the last of my kind, descended from a conquering race. My family was its heart's blood, its brains, its swords. But the warlike days are over."

How he missed the lust of the battlefield and the triumph of fallen adversaries. It was war that had unleashed the terrors of his authority and granted him release from imprisonment, had transformed him into an immortal warrior. Once it had ended, there was nothingness, emptiness, boredom, a never-ending thirst that had driven him to England. Here, it was a war of a different kind, a much subtler form of battle with far less formidable adversaries. The art of war was lost on the British, but then, seduction was an art of its own. He _intended_ to seduce her, more than that, to make her his queen. It had been instinctive from their first meeting, a destiny both sensed. Lucy had been dissatisfied her entire life, searching endlessly for him without knowing it, and he had long yearned for her. The intensity between them was so strong she could not breathe, feeling intoxicated by his presence. It aroused desires she had never before experienced, yearnings she should not have entertained. He saw the rise and fall of her breast as she drew in her breath, attempting to repress her thoughts.

"It is not healthy to live in the past."

"No," he said meaningfully. "It isn't."

They continued to stare at one another, Lucy finding the longer she looked at him, the closer he seemed to come to her. She could feel the touch of his hand against her shoulder, the warmth of his breath on her throat, but he remained at the far end of the table.

"Jonathan Harker tells me you speak some Romanian."

It had been nothing more than a boast, a joke between them, a translation of fragments of the captain's journal she knew were wrong. Her protests were silenced as he spoke in an exquisite language like music to her ears; the words sank into her with such warmth she was strangely moved by them, prompting a curious upturn of her lips.

"There," he said with satisfaction, "you do understand."

Shaking her head, Lucy confessed, "No, really, I have no idea what you said."

"I said, 'It would be nice to see you smile.' "

"Then you should be pleased."

The Count smiled. "I am. But I must warn you to take care."

Flickering light wavered between them. It was as if nothing else existed in the world, if his nearness was all that mattered. She sensed it had been a mistake to come there alone but did not regret it. "Whatever for?" she asked in amusement.

"If at any time my company does not please you, you will have only yourself to blame for an acquaintance that seldom forces himself but is difficult to be rid of."

She did not understand him or the nature of his warning and did not wish to. Her only sorrow was the lateness of the hour, for it would soon force her home. "I do not think you will find me a reluctant acquaintance, Count. I have greatly enjoyed our evening. I am only sorry it must come to an end."

"Must it or will you walk with me in the garden? Most of the estate is dead, but there is Life in the courtyard." He pushed back his chair and approached to extend his hand, a request more than an invitation. Dracula did not want her to leave either and though it was well past midnight, Lucy was not prepared to go back to the emptiness of her room, the coldness of the pillow where Mina's head should have rested, the sorrow that faded in his presence. Her fingers fell into his and he lifted her to her feet, escorting her down a narrow corridor lined with shadows.

Stirrings in the distance caused him to pause and glance at the door, his senses heightened. It was not a intruder so much as a knowing that something had gone wrong, a sensation that filled him with dread as well as anger.

Mina stirred. It was not her time, but her hunger drove her to scrape at the walls of her imprisonment, breaking her fingernails on the rough boards and finding only dirt beyond. She was alone in a dark place, frightened but driven by instinct as she pushed aside the rocks. They fell to the ground of a tunnel that ran beneath the town for miles, an old mine that yielded coal for northern factories. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, water rippling under her feet as she followed the narrow passage out into the night. Cold air stung her face and in the distance was the faint lights of town but it was the asylum she knew and walked toward. Passing like a ghost through the cemetery and approaching the side door, she let herself in. Voices wafted from a lower room that might have been the parlor, the murmur of the doctor confiding in a companion, but she ignored them and ascended the narrow flight of stairs to the far wing. Most of the inhabitants were asleep, either of their own choosing or drugs that slowed their minds. All was dark and quiet, her presence unnoticed except in the tossing and turning of a few restless souls. Mina went into a hall and at the far end of it, through the bars of the door, saw a lonely figure humming to the emptiness of her arms in the moonlight. Annie's child was asleep in her crib, her mother distant as she waltzed in circles.

Reaching for the handle, Mina felt the lock click beneath her fingers and inch open into the gloom. Her presence went unnoticed until the slender figure turned and by then she was standing over the crib, staring at the sleeping infant. Uncertain of what she was seeing, Annie approached and whispered, "Isn't he a pretty baby?"

Yes, he was. So pretty in the moonlight, her plump hand closed into a fist, blissfully asleep and distant from the mortal hell of her surroundings. Mina rested her hand on the round stomach, revealing the dirtiness of her fingers from having dug out of her grave. She sensed faint condemnation, his warning for her to leave at once and go to Carfax, but ignored it. Her eyes were filled with nothing but the infant, so soft and warm, so well-fed and full of Life. Primal instincts stirred within her, a rush of desire that compelled her to snatch him up. Annie shrieked and sprang at her, shrinking back in alarm as the moonlight revealed sharp fangs and red eyes. Mina snarled as she clutched the infant to her chest. It let out a howl and was silenced forever. Annie screamed and continued to scream, pummeling the intruder with her fists until Mina released the baby and fled down the passage, her white garments rippling behind her.

Throughout the asylum others were taking up the cry, for they had all been awakened. Some shouted and beat wooden spoons against the bars, others darted out of her path as she smashed through the nearest window. Fabric fluttered gracefully in her wake as she landed lightly on the ground and fled through the cemetery, blood coursing through her veins and fear hounding her steps as she returned to the mines. Bats stirred with her entrance and squealed in disapproval, but she ignored them, hearing the fierceness of her Master's voice in her mind.

_Damn you, Mina! You will not stir again until I have come for you!_

Scarlet coated her fingertips as she forced aside the rocks that enclosed her coffin and crawled once more inside. A shudder passed over her and she was still, death-like as Dracula regained his influence over her. But the damage had already been done.


	14. Chapter 14

For some time, Dr. Seward and Professor Van Helsing had sat in the parlor conversing in low voices, but the tranquility of their thoughts was interrupted by distant screams that resounded down the narrow corridors and prompted both to arise, one in disapproval and the other in concern. Seward was so accustomed to chaos in the ward that he did not expect it to be of a serious nature, but his friend hastened on his heels as he went to unlock the gate.

Annie was the least amount of trouble among the inmates, for she was quite sensible apart from infrequent, irrational episodes. No one liked to mention the cause of her deranged mental state, the byproduct of an assault that had left her senseless and pregnant. But where other women might have shunned and abhorred their child, hers was a source of constant pride and adoration, the one thing on earth that belonged to no one but her. While she frequently enlisted the assistance of Lucy to help her, she would not let anyone else hold the baby for long and hovered over it protectively, singing and talking to it with a tenderness her keepers found touching.

Thus, the sudden and brutal death of the infant was alarming, as was its presence on the cold stone floor of her room surrounded by a pool of blood. Seward's heart sank as he observed, knowing it represented the last thread of her sanity; without it she would soon diminish into the state of the other sad creatures that shared her lifelong imprisonment. He could not see how she had harmed the child, as her nature was against it. Weary by the oddities of recent events, he rubbed his eyes and wished for the day to end, half listening as Van Helsing examined the body. There were two small marks on its throat not unlike those that had marred Mina's skin, but he could make nothing of them. In the background, Annie was held in the arms of Swales, who had narrowly prevented her from leaping out the broken window in pursuit of her child's assailant, babbling incoherently to the occupants of her small room.

"She just opened the door, like she had a key! She murdered my little Alex. She was as hot as a burning coal, and her eyes were red like rubies, and her lips all drawn back, and her breath so foul! And she had these long, dreadful teeth like the fangs of a wolf… like nothing from this earth! Then she grabbed him, and I grabbed her, and the next thing I remember, she bit him in the throat!"

Seward was accustomed to incoherent mutterings and said nothing, but his companion was most interested. Holding the lifeless child, he demanded, "This woman, you did not know her?"

All eyes turned to him in bewilderment that he would encourage such madness, but Annie drew herself up to the fullness of her small height and said, "Yes, I did! I did so! It was Miss Lucy's friend Mina, who we put in the earth yesterday!"

The earth receded beneath their feet and they stared at one another. Van Helsing could not form a response and Seward hastened to intervene. "Give her something to make her sleep," he told Swales and the man nodded with compassion as he placed his arm around her shoulder and led her away down the hall. Annie continued to talk the entire distance, her voice soon fading into obscurity. In the distance could be heard the sound of sweeping as what remained of the window was repaired. Seward turned to his friend in shock. "I don't know what to say, Abraham…" he started, but the professor held up one hand for silence.

Wrapping the tiny body in white linen from the cradle, he said, "There are dark forces in this asylum. We will not speak of it now. I must think and pray." He arose from his chair with apparent weariness, for this newfound burden added age to his already diminished frame, and left. Seward looked around him at the emptiness of the space, shuddered, and hoped his daughter would return soon.

Unaware of the miseries of home, Lucy could not contain her enthusiasm as she stepped out into the moonlight and discovered the inner courtyard was a bower of flowering plants and luscious green vines. The coolness of the night was welcome after the warmth of the dining room and the nearness of her companion, who allowed her to precede him as she went to the balcony. It was apparent that great care had been taken in the tending of this small corner of the manor and its beauty quieted her soul. In the distance was the sound of wolves in the wild, a solitary, lonely cry that awakened yearning in her heart. In a subdued, almost reverent voice, her companion said, "Listen to them, the children of the night… what sad music they make."

He rested his hands on the carved stone before them, perfectly poised against the shadows. It was easier to be near him in the darkness, to trust him, to release her inhibitions and allow him to see into her soul. He granted her a glimpse into his, for she saw a sadness he attempted to hide, a loneliness she longed to heal. He was thousands of miles from home and the crypts of his ancestors, isolated, the last of his kind.

"Do you think it sad?" She looked up at him and saw only his profile, the wonderful straightness of his nose and the soft curl of his hair. He truly was the most handsome man she had ever seen, but there was something else equally mesmerizing about him that she could not explain.

He refrained from returning her gaze, musing, "So lonely, like weeping."

Leaving his side and descending down the ancient steps, her hand trailing along the railing and dislodging some of the greenery, she said, "I think it's a wonderful sound. I really love the night. It's so simple." She reached the center of the courtyard and turned to watch as he followed, his movements poised and elegant, causing him to pause on the landing.

"So deceptive," he warned.

In a rare instant of defiance, she argued, "So exciting."

"You take the dawn for granted." He stepped down onto the uneven stone floor; "the warm sunlight. Ah, but the night…"

"… was made to enjoy." Lucy did not move as he came nearer to her, for it was what she wanted.

There was a smile on his lips, playfulness in his tone as he said, "Yes, it was. It was made to enjoy life... and love."

Her eyes lowered along with the rest of her face, welcoming his nearness but intimidated by presence. Lucy was afraid what she might do if she stared at him too long, so near his arms.

"Look at me," he said softly, but she did not and his hand brushed beneath her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. They were deep and bewitching. She felt her resistance fade, becoming lost in them as his fingers traced the lines of her face, drawing her nearer. Dracula touched his lips to hers, finding her unresisting, emotionless as he kissed her shoulder and the gentle curves of her throat. Temptation coursed through him, a desire to taste her blood, for that had been his original intention but now he found the idea repugnant. He was curious. His lips caressed her neck and pulled lightly on her earlobe, releasing her from his spell and finding she did not draw away from him. Excitement passed through both of them, prompting her to place her hands on his shoulders and draw his lips to hers, tentatively. The sensation of his caress was different from Jonathan, for he was gentle but persistent. Their small kisses soon transitioned into deeper ones as he drew her against him and could feel every response in her body, the increase of her heart and trembling of her veins. She _wanted_ him, not because he asked her, manipulated it out of her, or compelled the primal urges in her soul, but because she truly _desired_ him. It felt so different to hold her in his arms, to not want her blood as much as the intoxication of her kisses, to feel a fierce desire to make love to her. But he drew his lips from hers despite her resistance and whispered, "You must forgive me."

Entwining her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, Lucy asked, "What for?"

He knew it would be prudent to draw out of her arms, but didn't. It would be prudent to abandon her altogether, for it was dangerous to toy with her. "Why, for intruding on your life."

"I came of my own accord." Her breathing was quickening.

Glancing in the direction of the coming light, he said, "You should go."

"No, I would rather stay." She had no desire to go home ever again. If society would have allowed it, she would have remained there forever. Nothing seemed more important than his arms around her, not her future desire to be an attorney, or the death of her friend, or even Jonathan. There was nothing but the scent of the winter flowers and the magic of the courtyard.

His head resting against hers, he murmured, "It will be light soon."

"Not for hours yet," she argued.

Would she have an answer for everything? Must he turn her out? Dracula did not wish to but the night was waning fast and he had need of nourishment before the dawn. Meeting her gaze but resisting the urge to use his influence, he said, "I _will _see you again."

The thought filled her with happiness and like a child, she whispered, "Oh, please!"

Sliding his hands down her sides to her waist, he kissed her once more and then taking her hand, led her into the manor. It was gloomy after the light of the courtyard but she said nothing as he retrieved her cloak from the settee and draped it over her shoulders. Escorting her to the door, it creaked open under his hand and revealed the coach waiting for her. Lucy started out and then turned back to him, demanding, "_When_? When will I see you again?" She could not imagine the torment of intervening hours, of wondering when he would darken her door or summon her. He was astounded with the emotion in her voice, the rawness of her yearning for what he offered her.

"Soon," he promised.

Content with this response, her hand reluctantly left his and she descended to the carriage. It trundled down the lane with the assistance of its invisible driver as he turned within, his motions displaying no undue haste as he donned his cloak and glanced at the ornate grandfather clock against the far wall. Dawn was approaching fast. He left the house in the waning darkness and traveled the solitary road into town in the form of a wolf. There were many sleeping souls present in the village open to his influence. He was drawn to them instinctively, transforming into human form in the shadows of a doorway. Wind caressed tendrils of his dark hair as he paused and glanced in the direction of the sea, listening to the silence. It was too dangerous to enter the house, so he went to the bench by the sea to wait for her.

Not knowing what had awakened her from sleep, the milliner's eldest daughter pushed aside the bedclothes and placed her feet on the floor. Passing the sleeping forms of her parents and without rousing the dog from under the stairs, she unlatched the door and stepped out into the gloom. It was not far to her favorite place overlooking the cliffs and as she drew near he emerged from beneath the shadow of the nearby tree and extended his hand. Her fingers fell into his palm, accompanying him to the bench where she watched ships coming into the harbor. Cradling her face in his hands, Dracula placed her in a trance and brushed the golden hair away from her throat. He would not hurt her, nor take enough to make her ill, and in the morning she would remember nothing except the remnants of a dream. Her delicate skin separated beneath his fangs and her blood coursed into him, relieving his hunger but not satisfying it, for he longed for Lucy's blood. He would not take it from her unless she submitted to him, not out of compulsion but desire.

Delicately separating from the girl, he sent her home. Halfway down the lane she turned and smiled at him before skipping down the road. Light was appearing in the east and he set out for Carfax, shifting into a wolf in order to make it in time. Tendrils of light spiraled after him and nearly caught him before he darted into the crypts. His boxes awaited him, full of the rich soil of his homeland that allowed him to sleep for centuries.

Glancing at the nearest, he smiled. How fortunate he was to have one large enough for two.

The further she traveled from her companion, the more certain Lucy became that her father would be displeased with her for the lateness of the hour. There was nothing for it but to enter with confidence and prepare for a lecture so she was surprised to find the lower rooms abandoned and no light burning beneath his door. Dr. Seward had been so distressed by the cryptic remarks of his friend that he had gone to bed without a second thought for his daughter's prolonged absence. His distracted nature had benefitted her in the past and she was again grateful for it as she tiptoed up to her room, closed her door quietly, and prepared for bed in the dark lest someone discover her return.

It was difficult to sleep with the memory of him lingering in her mind, the knowledge that he stirred yearning in her, and that their instant connection on their first meeting had not been a coincidence. It reminded her of Mina and sadness again entered her heart but she had no tears left to shed so turned her face into the pillow and slept. Morning came too soon but no one disturbed her, for they had not heard her come in and thus were unaware of the lateness of her return. She heard footsteps and the sound of her father's voice but then all fell quiet. Eventually, the gloom dissipated from her thoughts and allowed her to rise, dressing dutifully and going downstairs to discern if anything of breakfast remained. Her father had already eaten and retired to the asylum to continue his duties. The professor had spent most of the morning in the library pouring over books on vampire bats and was lost in thought when Lucy appeared on the threshold. Her presence was a reminder to him of their current situation and caused him to shut the book.

"Miss Lucy," he said with a hint of sadness as she approached. "I have not seen you in far too long."

"I am sorry it is under these circumstances," she answered. He looked older than she remembered, the loss of his daughter having worn severely on his constitution. She was fond of him, for he was kind to his daughter and her friends, and it worried her to see the paleness of his features and slowing of his movements. He was a man ravaged by more than grief. Noticing the volume he had been reading, she found it strange but did not comment as he rose to his feet cumbersomely, for he had been sitting there for hours. "Have you eaten?"

"No, I have been preoccupied. Perhaps you would take breakfast with me?" Van Helsing noticed an unusual flush to her features, a natural grace that had not been there before; she moved differently, with greater confidence and restraint. He had not seen her in several years but this was more than gradual maturity. Narrowing his eyes, he looked at her curiously until she smiled and offered him her arm.

They ate a quiet breakfast, for neither had much to say, and Lucy went upstairs while Van Helsing went to the kitchen. It was a large establishment and in the cellar could be found all manner of useful things. The servants watched with interest but could not fathom his reasoning for gathering the items that went into a small wooden box. He collected salt, stakes, and garlic cloves. There was a garden of it behind the asylum and Lucy saw him gathering the tiny white flowers when she went to fetch a book from the parlor. Lifting aside the curtain, she observed his progress and then resumed her task. There were forms to fill out for her application to law school in London, and it made her forget the sadness of previous days to put her mind to earnest toil.

Dinner was promptly at seven each evening and a little earlier than that, her father returned from his duties. He had not seen her since the previous afternoon and made no comment as he entered the parlor other than, "It has been a maddening day. There is such unease among them, more so than is natural for such a simple a death."

Pausing in her scribbling, Lucy turned in her chair, the dark waves of her hair highlighting the paleness of her features against the fading light. Soon she would be forced to light the lamps. "What do you mean?" she asked, for she had been told nothing of recent events. Her absence had been so irregular that her father had quite forgotten it, and stared at her for a moment before stirring common sense from the depths of his mind.

"Of course, you weren't here… Annie's baby died last night; a most terrible affair. She was raving like a lunatic. Said Mina crept in from the darkness and drank the child's blood. There was a window broken and a great deal of turmoil…" He stopped when he saw how much the conversation pained her, for Lucy had been very fond of little Alex. His happy gurgle and beaming smile had been the joy of the household. The frivolity and flirtations of the previous evening eroded beneath this newfound sorrow, prompting her to put aside her pen.

"What happened to him?"

"I don't know. There was a great deal of blood." The physician sank into the nearest chair and rubbed the top of his balding head. Smoothing his hair into place, he peered at her over the top of his rounded spectacles. "It is a most troubling affair and one Van Helsing has been pondering throughout the day, although he chooses not to share his suspicions with me. Has he come in yet?"

"No."

It was an encouragement for her to go in search of him, and donning a lace shawl, Lucy welcomed a chance to escape into the briskness of the evening air and think. He had been in the lower garden for most of the afternoon but she found it abandoned and turned her attention to the cemetery beyond. It was not difficult to make him out against the cold gray turf, for he sat hunched beside the freshly turned earth of his daughter's grave. The wind whipping her skirts around her, Lucy skirted the tombstones and approached from behind, reverent as to the state of his distress. "Professor," she said, disturbing him from the depth of his musings, "you should come inside now. It's getting very cold."

Wisps of grass moved beneath her feet, tousled by her long skirt, blue beneath the faint golden twinge of light as it faded in the west, sinking behind luminous clouds. The sky would soon be streaked with crimson, the clouds heralding the coming darkness with a fond caress. Her voice was so soft it was nearly lost in the quiet of the place, in the distant sound of gulls on the sea and the town spread beneath them. The Hall was different from the rest of civilization, isolated, and her eyes drifted to Carfax Abbey in the distance, concealed behind the skeletal trees.

"I was just sitting awhile with Mina," he remarked, quietly

Her resting place was marked with a single whitewashed wooden cross, and as she stared down at the rich earth that separated them forever, Lucy saw the sprigs of white nestled there. Leaning down to touch the nearest, she asked, "What are these?" She felt an internal twinge of concern at having them there that she could not explain.

"Those tiny flowers are from the garlic plant." Van Helsing did not move as she came to join him on the narrow bench. He had moved it there with some difficulty and there were still marks in the ground from having dragged it from one corner of the graveyard to the other. Many times Mina had sat with him in such a posture overlooking her mother's final rest. It felt so wrong not to have her with him, so incredible that he would never sit with her again.

Bewildered, Lucy asked, "Whatever for?"

Society did not accept stories of supernatural forces. They were regarded as superstition, folklore, tales told around roaring fires of ghosts and other intervening beings. Van Helsing had not believed in them until now and did not expect her to understand. Hints of immortal intervention had come upon learning the circumstances of Mina's diminished health and sudden death. The loss of blood was significant and before he had left Holland he had gone to the priest to ask for a blessing and divine guidance. "I cannot be certain, but there may be an evil presence abroad," he had said. His mentor and friend, a man of great learning and formidable religious experience, had warned him to be careful. It was prudent advice, for he had sensed on his arrival a looming darkness at the asylum. He saw it in the faces of his companions and the quietness of the country lanes, but could not determine its origins.

Lucy was staring at him intently.

Knowing she would refute him, Van Helsing asked, "Do you believe in corporeal transference?"

Foreign studies had made her aware of such things, fanciful accusations about out-of-body experiences in which another individual commanded your movements or forced your soul to abandon its body. "No," she said, certain he was toying with her, but there was seriousness in his face. It was old and wise, once handsome but now ravaged with grief, dark circles beneath his eyes and weariness in his mouth.

"In materialization?" he pressed, without much hope. There was something about her that he could not trust but demanded he attempt to save her.

She almost laughed, shaking her head. "No."

It was apparent that she found him absurd, but he pressed, "And not in astral bodies?"

"What has this to do with Mina?"

The scent of garlic wafted over them, an unpleasant aroma against the saltiness of the air. Staring at the crudely crafted cross that was his daughter's only adornment in death, Van Helsing said, "You know the legends of Central Europe of the werewolves and vampires?"

More superstitions and stories, originating from the gypsies of those regions; most had come to England and brought the local folklore with them, tales of demonic creatures that took on different forms with the rising of the moon. Jonathan had purchased a little book about them from a street vendor and she had laughed at him for it. His eagerness to read of them struck her with a particular resonance but it was not humor that surfaced in her voice as she repeated, "Vampires?"

Her response was instinctive, for she knew what he meant. Mina's loss of blood, the death of a child, the unusual behavior of the asylum inhabitants, all seemed eerily similar to the gypsy legends.

"Creatures who suck the blood of the living," he said needlessly, for it was apparent from her expression that she understood and resisted his suspicions. Even he had difficulty admitting it, for it was repugnant to believe in such creatures, but in the many years of his existence he had experienced things no mortal could explain. There _were _supernatural forces in the world, some originating from the darkest of places. He hoped for something other than disbelief or condemnation in her countenance, but she disappointed him.

With evident anger, she said, "You aren't saying that you believe _Mina _attacked…"

"A creature that is dead and yet not dead. A thing that lives after its death by drinking the blood of…"

She stood and moved away from the grave marked by tranquil white blossoms. She would not listen to this. "Oh, no, please!"

Rising in her wake, he continued, "It must have blood or it dies an agonizing death!"

Wind whipped the end of her scarf, threatening to dislodge it from her hair, the emptiness of her surroundings contributing to the heaviness in her heart. Lucy started toward the house, unwilling to listen to this madness, but his plaintive appeal for her to pause forced her to remain still. "Miss Lucy!" he cried, in the voice of a father who has lost a child and a new wave of pain surfaced as she turned to wait for him. He made his way over the uneven ground with care, removing something small from his pocket. His hands were shaking.

"Miss Lucy, I wonder if I may..." Hesitation was abandoned as he handed it to her and she turned it over, looking up at him. "It was to be Mina's for her birthday. She would want you to have it, and to wear it always."

Ignoring the emotion that arose within her, Lucy opened the box to reveal a small golden cross on a matching chain. It was beautiful and delicate, just the sort of thing her friend would have treasured in her faithful innocence. Mina had been sweet and undemanding, content with the smallest things. It touched her that Van Helsing wanted her to have it. The cross was so light it wavered in the breeze, glistening in the final rays of light before they faded. Above them the sky was magnificent, harkening the arrival of night. She experienced a faint rush of exhilaration and expectation, sensing him long before the sound of pounding hoof beats reached her ears. She saw him in her mind even as Van Helsing lifted the cross and assisted her in placing it around her neck.

"Always," he stressed, knowing she would not fully understand her need to keep it close. Lucy was not like his daughter, not aware of the danger. Mina had seemed naïve to her but in many regards had been wise, not protected from the evils of the world so much as guarded against them. If only he had been there to watch out for her, but it was too late for Mina, so he would turn his attention to her friend instead. Lucy would not share her fate, not in death nor as the victim of whatever walked among them. A change came over her expression when the cross touched her bodice, a softening of the lines of her face as she pressed a kiss to his cheek in gratitude, unable to find words to thank him. Taking his arm, Lucy escorted him toward the gates of the graveyard, slightly crooked from the passage of time and shifting of the cliffs. The hoof beats increased and brought a rider that filled her with joy.

Count Dracula was immaculate in appearance if somewhat windswept, his interest apparent as his eyes caressed her slender form and they exchanged pleasantries. Her response was soft, for even at a distance he awakened her sensuality. Shifting his attention to the older man at her side, Dracula felt immediate dislike. He suspected this man was not as easily fooled as the others. "I am Count Dracula," he said from the back of his horse, which moved uneasily beneath him. Horses were naturally frightened of his kind but he had mastered this one.

"Abraham Van Helsing."

So that was why; her death had brought her father, a man of the old country who knew the superstitions of distant lands. Dracula saw in him a rival as much as sensed his curiosity and disapproval. He would have to be cautious or risk discovery. "Then it is your daughter, sir, who brings me here. I have come to pay my respects." He had come for her. Mina would not languish beneath the earth another night, but follow him into eternity. Even now he could sense her stirring, filled with yearning and a deep hunger. She was frightened and alone, crying out to him like a child alone in the night.

The gentle caress of Lucy's fingers around a small adornment at her throat drew his attention, and attempting to maintain a disinterested tone, he asked, "What is that around your neck?"

It was evident, a small cross fully capable of keeping him at a distance. She had never worn one before, nor had he sensed any form of devotion in her. Its presence was unwelcome.

"This? It is a gift from Professor Van Helsing." Lucy gave him an affectionate glance and the Count recoiled. The old man had wasted no time in interference and no doubt already had his suspicions. Word of recent happenings at the asylum was spreading in the town, rumors of ghosts and other spectral forms. Dracula could not long stay at Carfax, but then he had no desire to, only long enough to take both of his brides with him.

With more than his usual amount of sarcasm, he said, "How kind."

Both men glared at one another, one with dark intentions and the other grave doubts. Oblivious to the contempt in the air between them, Lucy said, "We were just going inside. Perhaps you would care to join us?" She hoped he would and she might be allowed to see him again, but to her disappointment Dracula shook his head.

Resuming a pleasant expression, he indicated the cemetery behind them and said, "With your permission, sir?"

Stepping out of the path, Van Helsing answered, "With my blessing."

Maneuvering his horse around them, Dracula did not look back. His companion, however, watched him until Lucy gently pulled on his arm, then returned with her to the house.


	15. Chapter 15

Leaving him outdoors was difficult for Lucy, who found it hard to concentrate on her thoughts as they returned to the house. She removed her wrap in the foyer and dropped it onto a nearby table as she passed through the parlor. "Sit down, Professor. I'll bring you some tea."

"Thank you, Miss Lucy." Van Helsing watched her departure out the side door and walked to the window. Remnants of night were creeping in around the glass panels but he could still see well enough to make out the distant form of Dracula as he reached the grave. His horse was unguarded and unruly, fighting the reign. It sensed the nearness of a feral vampire. Dracula felt her too, but foremost in his consciousness was the blossoms scattered across the mound of earth between them. _Damn him!_ Van Helsing knew more than he let on.

His stallion reared and he forced it to turn back the way he had come, putting distance between the cemetery and the foreigner. Instinct told him where to find her, how she had escaped the first time, and the hard earth of the road soon gave way to the softened turf of the lower country. Dismounting and leaving the horse on the nearest rise, Dracula's cape fluttered in his wake as he made his way to the entrance of the mines. During the day they were worked long hours by wearied men but at night were devoid of movement apart from bats and rats. There was a lantern resting inside the first niche but he did not need it, his eyes adjusting to the gloom as he followed her scent through the narrow passages. Water dripped from the ceiling and pooled on the damp ground, his form casting no reflection as he passed over it, sending a few pebbles bouncing into its depths. The nearer he was to her the more he sensed her until he came to the narrow ledge she had burrowed through to escape her coffin. In obedience to his command, she had not attempted to rise a second time and now as he called to her there was nothing but silence until faint movement brought a pale hand from the side of her coffin. The rest of her body accompanied it and he took hold of her, lifting her out and setting her feet on the ground.

Anger gripped him at her appearance. The scent of garlic wafting through the earth above her confinement had corrupted the contours of her face, leaving peeling decay behind, framing her bloodshot eyes in the hideousness of death. Newborn vampires were vulnerable to such things and he mentally cursed Van Helsing, brushing the hair off her scarred features and reassuring her with a smile that she was still beautiful. Mina had been fragile from the beginning and there was not much left of her; the torments of awakening in her coffin, scratching to get out, not having him to guide her first taste of blood, had almost destroyed her. She could be redeemed, even transformed, but it would take time. For now, she merely looked at him in wonder. It was no use explaining things to her, as she would not understand. He would have to watch her, as he could not risk taking her into the village or returning to the asylum. She was innocent and trusting, like a child. Her hand fell into his and she accompanied him through the tunnels, the white of her garments fluttering behind her across the sharp rocks, ghostly in the moonlight as they ventured out into the gloom. His horse would not come near her so he released the creature, knowing it would return to the stable. They continued on foot for most of the journey, skirting to the main road and keeping to the shadows. Once, a wagon rumbled past and the horses stirred, their owner cursing them on. Her eyes gleaming with primal desire, Mina started after him and Dracula pulled her back. "Not now, not just yet," he warned her.

Pouting, she did as he told her, staying near to him until they reached the wood not far from Carfax Abbey. Each night there was a small passing band of men returning home after the mines and awhile after them the stragglers. He felt their approach and knew how many were in their numbers, so he watched and waited until he knew only one was coming in their wake on foot. Lantern light bounced off the trees as the young man whistled, unafraid of the darkness. He rounded the corner of the lane and his footstep faltered, for sitting in the center of the road was a young woman. Long, beautiful reddish-blonde hair cascaded down her back and her gown was in tatters. Stories of ghosts had long tormented the parish and came to mind as he said, tentatively, "Hello?"

Her face concealed beneath strands of hair, she held out one pale hand. "Please, help me," she whispered. Compassion and curiosity overwhelmed common sense, which might have told him to flee in the opposite direction and he approached. Golden light pooled at his feet as he held the lantern higher in an attempt to see and the sight that met his eyes filled him with horror. She was a creature from his darkest nightmare, a hellish fabrication of former beauty tainted by otherworldly existence. Before he could fall back or even scream her master stood behind him. One strong hand caught the back of his neck, preventing him from crying out, forcing him to his knees. White fangs gleamed in the depths of her red mouth as she advanced, and Dracula held him until he stopped moving.

Mina licked the blood from her lips and he found her countenance somewhat improved. It would take time to restore her immortal beauty but she was not quite as gaunt. He held her chin and lifted her face to him, smiling with approval before assisting her to her feet. It would not do to leave the boy here so he took up the body while Mina followed with the lantern, its feeble light bouncing among the trees before he had her put it out. She left it at the foot of a massive oak, bounding after him as lightly as a deer as he found a place to dispose of the body. They would soon have to move on from here, for she was too well known. He could tame and return sanity to her, but it must be in London.

The hour was growing late and he knew Lucy would be awaiting him. Once more taking Mina's hand, he led her to Carfax Abbey. "You will stay here until my return," he said. The house was dark, moonlight falling in fragments through the windows. There was enough books and music to preoccupy her for hours. Mina's happiness turned to concern and she protested.

"When I return, you shall have a companion," he promised. "You will have Lucy with you once again."

"Lucy?" Her expression brightened. "Yes, yes, you must bring Lucy!"

Before he could go, her hand reached out and caught his arm. Mina looked so sad, so alone, sitting on the piano bench before dusty ivory keys. She looked like a ghost but had the plaintive cry of a child and he pressed his lips to her forehead before he retreated. The sound of music wafted after him, threading down the stairs and quieting as he left by the side door. Mina continued to play in his absence until a faint creaking sound alerted her to another's presence, but this time it was not her master. This intruder carried a different scent. Lifting her fingers from the keys she cautiously peered out into the hall and saw no one, no movement apart from the pattern of her shadow as it rippled down the passage. From below came the sound of voices and cautiously she crept nearer to peer over the banister. Footsteps echoed along with the men as they argued over whether or not it was right to enter without the Count's permission.

"Another of his crates washed up on shore; he would want us to bring it to him," one said. The front door was open behind them and she could see a horse and cart along with the wooden box in the back. Shrinking against the far wall, she hoped they would not see her in the gloom.

"Maybe we should just leave it on the doorstep."

"Or put it in the inner hall. I don't like the looks of him. Do you remember how he was when they first found him? The entire crew torn apart and there was not a scratch on him." One shoved his cap higher on his forehead and shuddered.

"It is superstition, nothing more. He was fortunate, that is all."

"Was he fortunate or the cause of the problem? I'm not staying here." The bulkier of the two strode toward the front door and after a pause his friend followed. Mina tiptoed nearer but her shoe fell against an uneven portion of the floor and knocked a few stone fragments to the ground. The intruders turned and saw her at the foot of the stairs, the whiteness of her gown showing up clearly against the looming shadows.

"Here now, who are you?"

Blood drained from the face of his companion, who reached out his arm to stop him from drawing nearer. "It's _her_," he whispered; "the girl who died, who found _him_ in the cavern!" His movement frightened her and she fled, hearing them come after her. Throwing open the door to the cellar, she ran down the narrow steps into the darkness. She heard scuffling and profane speech before two shapes emerged from the night.

"… not certain this is wise."

Their nearness was invigorating; she could feel bloodlust rising within her, a deep hunger that would never be entirely satisfied. Mina circled around the nearest of the boxes and came up behind them.

"What is this?" one asked, tapping the coffin. "One of those damned crates?"

He pushed the end of his crowbar beneath it and flipped open the lid, revealing the rich soil of Transylvania. His friend did not answer and it took him a moment to realize he was alone. The suddenness of solitude came over him and he lifted the crowbar threateningly. A small door that led out into the gardens was slightly ajar and through it came enough light that when she approached he could make her out. Her ghastly features, the blood coating her lips, and the hands stretched out to him caused him to cry out and flee, but she was too quick. The crowbar fell with a dull clank to the stone floor as his shrieks were subdued into nothingness.

When full, Mina stared down at their bodies and thought how furious the Count would be with her. He had told her to stay there, that he would look after her, and she was not to go hunting alone. Looking about her for a place of concealment, she dragged the nearest through the far door into the crypt and heaved him among the bones of the former descendents of Carfax. The other was hidden in a sepulture but there was still the horse and cart. It shied as she came out into the courtyard, straining against its tethers, and she released the brake. Rearing, the horse took off with the contents of the cart bouncing around in the back. She followed, keeping off the main road, and not two miles down the lane the front wheel came off and the entire thing overturned. Broken free, the horse galloped away, leaving her master's crate of dirt scattered across the road.

Swinging lights approached through the trees and Mina fled, not in the direction of Carfax, for they were between her and the house, but further down the road. The occasional traveler was approaching from either side so she entered the only possibility open to her and returned to the mines.

"You must tell me more of Count Dracula," the professor remarked over dinner. Thus far, conversation had ranged from trivial to mundane matters and Lucy had pushed around the food on her plate rather than eating it. Her father had a healthy appetite and had already polished off his food more than once, his pudgy hand reaching for third helpings. It was an innocent enough request and one his companions reacted to differently, for the doctor was obliging and his daughter somewhat less accommodating. Her mood continued to shift as the night wore on, for she could not stop thinking about what he had told her in the graveyard. Vampires and astral bodies, what nonsense! But she could not repress a nagging notion that he believed it.

Piling more food onto his plate, Dr. Seward said, "He's an interesting man, very learned and traveled, charming. He made rather an impression on the girls." He said it carelessly and did not catch his insensitivity, but Lucy looked at him guiltily. That night was emblazoned into her mind, when she had danced with the Count while Mina had sat and watched with an increasingly hurt look in her eyes.

"He has been here long?"

"Not long at all, no; a few days, nothing more." Seward shoveled dumplings into his mouth, oblivious to his daughter's frosty silence. Lucy knew what the motivation behind this line of questions was and found it offensive.

The professor glanced across the table and found her glaring at him. Rather than put her at ease, he sat back in his chair. "He is from an old family?"

"From a very old family, from what I understand. Lucy would know more." Indicating her with his fork, the doctor continued to eat.

Lucy turned the base of her wine glass, the liquid catching the light, and endured their interest. From their first encounter, Van Helsing had shown suspicion toward their neighbor and either in defense of him or out of unease she did not like it. Every question was a mild implication, an assignation leading him to form unfair conclusions. In his mind, the Count was a suspect in the death of his daughter, possibly an immortal, hellish creature who drank the blood of innocents in order to preserve his life. But the man that had held her in his arms in the garden, kissed her in the moonlight and awakened such desire in her was not evil. He was ancient, solitary, and sad, but certainly not the monster Van Helsing would have him be. Quietly, she said, "The Count is the last of his family, having buried them all. He has come here to escape the sorrows of home."

This prompted an empathetic expression in her father but stony indifference in his friend.

"I am sorry that such sadness has followed him," Van Helsing remarked. "Many men died in the storm and on that ship and now poor Mina... I understand there was a log? I should like to read it."

"It's in Romanian. You won't be able to read it." Lucy's tone possessed an edge that at last caused her father to realize something was wrong, for he shifted his focus from the desert Swales had just brought in to her face and found it flushed with displeasure.

Van Helsing was polite as he said, "I should still like to see it. I am curious about such things."

The last anyone had seen of it was on the sideboard in the drawing room but no one had looked at it since. Swales was sent to fetch it and Lucy sat staring at her pie for a time before pushing her chair back from the table. "I am very tired tonight and think I shall go to bed. Good night, Father." She went to kiss his cheek and did the same to Van Helsing but with a reluctance that accompanied the heaviness of her footstep out the door and up the stairs.

Her father shook his head. "I am sorry, Abraham… sometimes she gets in these moods…"

"You need not apologize. I understand." Van Helsing forced a reassuring smile but could not shake the feeling it might already be too late to save her. There was nothing physically amiss with Lucy, but her behavior indicated a hostility that could not have been grief. He turned his attention to desert, complimenting it as they ate in silence.

Swales was gone a long time and returned empty-handed. "I searched the drawing room and the parlor and looked among your books, but couldn't find it."

"Well, that is inconvenient. Perhaps the inspector came for it." Seward found nothing devious in its absence but the professor was less dismissive. "You mightn't have learned much from it, anyway, as not even the Count could translate it. Said it was Magyar and he was Shekel."

While Swales gathered up the remains of the dirty dishes in the background, Van Helsing said, "Surely such a learned man would know two different dialects."

"You would assume so, but perhaps not. That was a fine dinner. Tell the cook as much, Swales. Abraham, shall we go into my study?" Pushing his chair back from the table, the doctor walked ahead of him down the narrow corridor and entered the small room cluttered with bookshelves where he spent his free hours. Maps of the human body and other interesting items cluttered the walls, along with his medical degree and framed newspaper articles about his arrival at the institution and the changes he had made to it. Many of them were old and yellow, indicating that time had forgotten him and the township now took him for granted.

Settling into the chair behind his desk, Seward said, "I can tell from your expression that you are mulling something over. You must tell me what it is." He leaned back and perched his feet on the faded footstool, content to be away from the inmates for the evening. The others would come to him if there was need of his expertise, but the asylum was quiet tonight, its occupants at peace with their surroundings. Everything was demure and subdued, from the distant roar of the sea to the ticking clock on the mantle.

Wandering the room and looking over his books, Van Helsing said, "For many years we have agreed to differ on spiritual matters, Jack, but what I have found here is so evil it must be addressed. I fear it will soon envelop others in this house. It has already taken Mina, and there are changes in Lucy. For her good, you must listen to me without judgment."

All amusement faded and his friend indicated he was willing to hear him out. Van Helsing was cautious in his approach, careful of his words but firm in his conclusions. He could see the doubt in Seward long before he started to shake his head. Opening one of his books, the professor indicated the pages on vampirism. "Many believe it no more than a myth, but it is real, Jack. I have spoken to others who have encountered it. In certain parts of the world, there are evils we cannot fathom. Places where Christianity is nothing more than an illusion, where Lucifer resides. There are ways to learn the truth."

"Abraham, surely even this is beyond you… _vampires_?"

"You said Mina lost an incredible amount of blood, but you found none! That poor madwoman also said Mina sucked the life from her child."

Slamming the book closed, Seward rose to his feet. "It was a shoddy conclusion from a half-rate doctor who has not practiced real medicine in decades and the testimony of a mad woman!" He would never have demeaned himself lightly and there was an awkward pause between them, two men of equally opposing views finding no common ground.

Van Helsing reacted as if he had been struck, an admission that negligence had brought about his daughter's death. He wavered and emotion threatened to overwhelm him but he said, "Let us conduct an experiment. If nothing comes of it, I will admit it as madness, but if it supports my theory, you must acknowledge it as within the realm of possibility and _help me_!"

They stared at one another fiercely until the doctor relented. His friend pivoted on his heel and strode from the room. Seward followed, silent as they went to the stables and the white horse Lucy hitched to her buggy was taken from his stall by Toby, one of the doctor's assistants. "Come," commanded the professor, and all followed him to the gates of the cemetery.

From the shadows, an enormous black wolf observed, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. None of them noticed him but all felt the eeriness of their surroundings. The hair rising on the back of his neck, Seward said, "Abraham, this is nonsense. Witchcraft! This beast can tell us nothing. There are no such things as vampires. There's nothing but the Lord's own dead out here!"

Leading the horse among the headstones, Toby struggled to control him, for the animal had gone wild, rearing and fighting the lead in unholy terror. "I can't hold him!"

"Then let him go, man!" The lines of Van Helsing's face were unnatural in the light of the lantern he held in one hand, fascination gleaming in his eyes as he watched the boy fall back, releasing the horse. Its white flank gleamed in the moonlight as it moved among the headstones, a majestic, haunted sight of primal beauty against the savagery of loss. Rippling mane combined with fierce snorting as he lowered his nose to the ground.

Concerned, the doctor demanded, "What if he should break a leg?"

"He won't! Look how alert he is! See, he knows. He will find out where lies the vampire just as surely as you, Jack Seward, could predict a human cancer."

Beyond the lantern light, the horse came to Mina's grave. Her father held his breath, praying it would not be so, that he was wrong, but the gelding whinnied and began to paw at the soft earth, scattering garlic blossoms to the wind. Van Helsing staggered back and Seward caught him, horrified as the earth sprayed in all directions. "Stop him!" cried out the doctor, then softly, "Dear God in heaven, stop him!"

Running forward, Toby took the animal away, passing through the narrow cemetery gate and returning to the stables. Dr. Seward did not know what to say and his feeble attempts to dismiss it were brushed aside as his companion picked up the shovels they had brought along, handed him the lantern, and approached his daughter's resting place. "Abraham…" the physician pleaded, and fell silent at the anguish in his friend's eyes. He took up the nearest shovel and helped him dig, throwing the rich dirt aside amidst the scent of flower petals.


	16. Chapter 16

Jonathan had never once spoken to her of intimacy but each day he hinted at it in a thousand different ways. Desire was apparent whenever he held her, but not once had Lucy felt similar feelings, nor any compulsion to relinquish herself to him. It was a union that proper young women did not speak of and had caused her many sleepless nights of wondering. She knew the Count was experienced in such matters, and what's more, welcomed her passion for him, an unholy _desire_ for him that did not abandon her mind even in its quieter moments. The intensity of being in his arms, of standing so near to him, of entwining her fingers in his hair and trembling at the caress of his lips…

He would come to her that night, and Lucy knew that she should resist, but there was no such ambition in her. Lucy had once said that if a woman allowed a man to have her, she lost her true self, her ambitions and dreams. Blushing, Mina had asked, "Then you will never marry?" Marriage was not in her mind, a matter Jonathan often proposed but she dismissed, for there was much she wanted to do. The thought of abandoning her dreams for this mysterious, alluring man _should _have caused her trepidation but didn't. All she could think of as she undressed was him, the touch of his hand, the sensation of his lips against hers. She wondered what he would do, if he would be gentle. Uncertainty brought calm to her movements, to brushing out her hair and removing the cross from around her throat.

Light flickered through the cemetery, indicating the presence of the men as they dug up the coffin that had once contained Mina. The Count watched them through narrowed eyes, placated that at least they would not find her, as she was safe at Carfax. His attention turned to the steep walls of the manor. Mist crept around him, concealing his presence as he passed through the garden. It obscured all beyond the windows of her room and went unnoticed by the professor, intent on his task. It followed Dracula in his ascent, billowing as the doors of her room opened at his silent bidding. The silk contours of his cape unfurled as he entered from the darkness. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at him and he sensed her apprehension. Not in the course of his many lifetimes had he found a woman so beautiful, so intuitive and instinctively perfect, as if she had been created for him alone. Every contour and turn of her lashes, each movement and beat of her heart enthralled him. She was so worldly, so knowledgeable, yet in this instance so innocent. Most of his wives had been pets, like Mina, kept for his amusement so he would not be lonely, but Lucy was different. In her was the promise of immortality, eternity, absolute contentment in spite of the solitary sadness of his lingering existence. She would be truly magnificent, her influence as a vampire profound, the first woman he had ever encountered who was truly worthy of him. He never spoke to them, merely transformed them, but Lucy was different. Lucy was his second self.

"Now it is you, my best beloved one. You will be flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood. You shall cross land or sea to do my bidding." His voice was no more than a whisper but resonated in her soul, increasing her happiness as he approached in the firelight. Caressing her arms on the way down, he slid his fingers into hers and pulled her to her feet, maneuvering her into the light so he might look down into her eyes. Lucy stepped nearer to him, her tension easing at the comfort of his nearness. Light traveled across her face and pooled at the nape of her neck, shifting as he unfastened her dressing gown and slid it from her shoulders. The touch of his hand against her bare skin excited her, quickening her heart as he swept off his cloak in a single movement and dashed it to the floor. Lifting her as effortlessly as if she had been a child, his eyes burning with desire, he carried her to the bed and rested her against the coverlet, gently falling with her into its softness. It cradled her as his touch slid downward, drawing him back from her as her hand followed in an appeal for his nearness. "I need your blood," he said simply. "I _need_."

He needed more than her life, but her love as well, her permission to continue, her adoration, her pleasure. He needed her to respond to him, to remind him of the past, to awaken his senses and ease the deadness of his heart. He needed her to make him remember what it was to be less than alone, to have a constant companion. He needed her body as much as her blood, as much as she needed him, _wanted_ him.

Lucy said nothing, for she could no longer communicate except with her thoughts, and he held the intensity of her gaze until his eyes drifted to her chemise. She felt his caress through the fabric, a slow movement upwards that elicited a faint moan. Her body stiffened and relaxed, drifting beneath the intimacy of his touch. The beat of her heart increased as their bodies pressed together, his head lifting to capture her mouth with his own. Trailing kisses across her face, his lips returned to hers and their kiss deepened, desire coursing through her. She entwined her fingers in his hair and he turned to kiss her palm, drawing back to once more look into her eyes. Her head drifted to the coverlet and he took over, his hands gentle but invoking sensations she did not know were possible. He was delighted by her responses, reacting to them accordingly as she surrendered to him.

Human lovemaking was different from the fierce passion of vampires but his intensity allowed her to sense what it was truly like, an emotion that overwhelmed and intoxicated her. She could not have imagined the intimacy of their embrace, the enthrallment she found in him, the strength even in the gentlest motions. He was deliberate and slow, granting her unimaginable pleasure, watching her throughout as she arched against him, at times biting her lip to prevent from moaning in ecstasy. Lucy clung to him in the firelight, her head falling back as she repressed making a sound. The tip of his tongue caressed her throat, her fingers grasping at him as he could no longer control his instincts and sank his teeth into her soft skin. This caused her to shudder and tense beneath him before she calmed, closing her eyes and entwining her fingers with his against the coverlet as the fire dimmed.

This time he would not leave but stay at her side until morning, intending for her to awaken with him. Drawing this thumbnail across his chest and luring blood to the surface, he lifted her up and encouraged her to drink. Lucy was tentative at first but then more insistent, so weak that soon she drifted into a contented sleep in his arms.

Weak light drifted across the mound of earth beside Mina's resting place. The two men bent over the coffin were armed with shovels and drenched in sweat; it was difficult and tedious work. They were unaware of their surroundings, the quiet sounds of the night and the presence of the sea. For them there was only flickering light and labored breathing. Beneath the damp earth was the coffin laid to rest in previous hours, now bare. Dr. Seward shuddered as he saw it, knowing what foulness would lie within, but he had vowed to assist his friend and not interfere, so remained silent. His companion lifted the lantern nearer and said, "Give me a wrench and pliers, Jack."

The doctor handed them over and watched in horror as Van Helsing pulled at the nails that kept the lid down. It was a dreadful sound when they pulled free and lifted the hair on the back of his neck. "Hold up the cross," the old man grunted and with a mildly doubtful expression, Seward did so. Huffing beneath his efforts, Van Helsing forced the lid of the coffin upright. What Seward expected was to see Mina resting there, innocent and whole in death, accompanied by the hiss of poisonous vapors as they escaped the coffin. He even held his breath in expectation but there was nothing but a satin pillow indicating where her pretty head had rested in death.

"It's not possible!" he breathed as his friend stepped down into the coffin. "I saw her put …"

His thoughts returned to the ghoulish fantasies of the books on his shelves, darkened byways and backwaters where devilish fiends were afoot, bodies sold to medical establishments for profit by underhanded ruffians, and what came out of his mouth next would have shocked any man save Van Helsing: "Body snatchers?"

Van Helsing reached for the nearest shovel and prodded its' end through a narrow slit in the side of the coffin. Rather than colliding with earth, the handle pushed free into nothing but air.

"The mines!" said the doctor. "They run underneath the entire town, everywhere!"

Still clutching his small cross, an adornment removed from the mantle in their sitting room, the physician pushed his glasses higher on his nose and watched as his old friend slid his lower body through the hole. "No, no, Abraham, please… I beg you, don't!"

His voice fell away as Van Helsing's foot found solid ground and he emerged from the coffin into the blackness of the mines. It was quiet and gloomy, shadows lurking around him as the faint light from his lantern illuminated pools of standing water. It was cold and damp, reminiscent of the catacombs in his country and just as eerie. Wary not to slip on the rocks, Van Helsing made his way down the nearest shaft. He walked for a time and discovered bats in the rafters. They stirred at the light and one of them dropped from its former perch, causing him to duck aside. The cross slipped through his fingers and dropped into the water, so murky he could not see it as he pawed through the mud, muttering under his breath in his native language. He felt sharp rocks, pebbles, and fragments of coal, but the cross was gone. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust from the surface of the puddle onto what was reflected in it, and even then he could not comprehend it.

Mina had been wandering the mines for the better part of the evening, attempting without success to return to her coffin but finding her surroundings so altered and her emotions so tumultuous from the night's events that she could not focus. Eventually, faint sounds and scents came to her, familiar as they drew her from the darkness. Fear prevented her from going too near, having an unusual aversion to the cross he carried but when it fell she went to him. Rats retreated from her path as she crossed the expanse of earth between them, her garments in tatters from her misadventures, hair wild around a face he could hardly recognize. It was hideous and malformed, her skin ashen and peeling away from the once-beautiful contours of her cheeks. But most disturbing was her eyes, burning with bloodlust, for she could see it pulsing beneath his skin.

He whispered her name, the anguish of a father in his tone. Slender hands reached out to him as he rose to his feet, the cross and lantern forgotten as she stepped over the puddle. Mina stared at him, faintly aware of who he was and unable to repress a desire to embrace him. He backed away from her, half-listening as she whispered words of love and encouragement in their native language, but it was not admiration in her face but a fierce urge. Stumbling, Van Helsing felt his legs give out, for he was ill-prepared for the monstrous sight before him. "No," he whispered as she reached for him. "No, leave me! Mina…"

Long fingers caressed the side of his face and fell to his collar, baring his throat to the weak light. Mina's eyes widened and she lunged for him with fangs bared, but something grabbed her around the waist and hauled her back. Dr. Seward had followed rather than be left alone in the graveyard and came to his rescue. Mina struggled with him and her long nails shredded the flesh of his arm, producing a cry as he released her. He lifted the cross still clutched in his chubby fingers and she collided with it; a sickening smell filled his nostrils as it burned into the skin of her forehead. Behind him, Van Helsing was scrabbling for the shovel handle he had dropped. His hand closed around it and he straightened up as his daughter wheeled away from the doctor. The force of her movement drove her onto it and she stopped, dazed as she stared down at the piece of wood protruding through her chest. Warmth spread over her and Mina felt the world recede, consciousness returning just enough to whisper in disbelief, "Poppa!" before she fainted. Burnished golden-brown curls gleamed about her shoulders as she slumped forward and her head dropped onto his shoulder.

Unable to control his emotions any longer, the professor wept. Dr. Seward did not know what to say and was silent, staring around him in an attempt to understand what he had just seen.

Eventually Van Helsing dried his tears. "We must take her to the house. She cannot stay here. It is not finished."

"Surely…" his friend started then softened his voice, "she is dead." He came forward, startled to discover that in the lantern light Mina had changed. She looked the same as when they had placed her in the coffin, beautiful in death, flawless of feature and rather like a china doll. The hideous demon had gone. He wondered if he had imagined it and this nothing more than a dream, but the pain in his arm and the anguish in his companion was real.

"She will awaken again in the hours of twilight if we do not stop her. Get the others. We must take her into the house and in the morning put her soul to rest. It is safe now; she will not reawaken tonight. Go!" He motioned to the tunnel snaking off into the darkness and with hesitation his friend passed along it with the lantern, promising to return at once. In his absence the mines were quiet once more, only the bats jostling for position on the low ceiling, foul, furry creatures with beady black eyes that bored into him as he stared at the young woman in his arms. Mina looked so much like her mother. It was difficult to erase the past and focus only on what he must do, for he could not see her as his daughter any longer but as something evil that must be stopped. "My daughter," he whispered, and then again, "my darling one."

Time passed before a light bounced down the passage, originating from swinging lanterns held in the hands of Swales and several others from the asylum. They must have thought it strange to carry out a young woman they had buried the previous afternoon, but exchanging no more than odd glances, bore her up to the house and placed her in the morgue. Dr. Seward said nothing as Van Helsing stood over her body, holding her hand in silence. He asked that garlic flowers from the back garden be brought in and the petals spread across the floor. It was unlikely his daughter would awaken a second time in one night, for vampires needed time to recover from mortal injuries, but he wanted to be cautious. Buds fell around her like rain, casting a peculiar scent in the room that eroded the awakening of decay in her slender form. There was a narrow window overlooking the grounds and through it appeared a faint light, sweeping in a wide arc across the far wall.

"It must be Jonathan," remarked Dr. Seward, for he recognized the golden-gray hue of his headlights. He had not known the young man intended on returning so soon but Jonathan had not known it himself. Midway to London, fuming over how badly Lucy had treated him, he had decided to stay there for a few days and allow her to wonder if it was broken off between them. But as he had walked down the magnificent corridor of the legal establishment where he worked and lifted his gloved hand to knock on the office of his superior, he chanced to glance at the name signed at the foot of the deed. _Count Dracula_. It leered up at him ominously, tantalizingly, reminding him it would not be wise to stay away too long, for the Count's interest in his to-be-bride was more than apparent.

"Damn!" he'd sworn as the door opened and his employer stood before him, perplexed at this profane greeting. Jonathan had wiped the anger off his face and replaced it with a cheeky smile, sweeping in and presenting him with a signed deed. He'd answered all sorts of questions about the buyer, how charming he was, his interest in the locals, how happy he was with the property, and as soon as he was outside the office once more, had broken into a sprint. He had sped all the way back from London, only once stopping for a few hours because his car died on the side of the road. Cursing and fumbling with it, he had managed to get it working and wanted dearly to see Lucy despite the lateness of the hour. Tearing up the front steps of Billabeck Hall, he rapped on the door and waited impatiently until it opened, accompanied by the prim, stern figure of Mrs. Galloway.

"Mr. Harker," she said with surprise, more than a little disapproving. Her hair was mussed beneath her nightcap and he knew he had roused her from her nightly rounds. Each night about this hour she took a cup of tea up to bed and soon thereafter her light went out.

He peered over her shoulder into the house. "I'm sorry to bother you at this hour but is Miss Lucy…"

Straightening to her full but less than impressive height, Mrs. Galloway answered sharply, "In her room, sound asleep, which is where we should all be if we had more common sense!" Her annoyance was evident, for all evening she had born witness to unusual shenanigans, from the departure of the professor and the doctor to the cemetery to the disappearance of Swales, who had returned later looking mysterious and brushing dirt from his hands.

Jonathan weakly laughed. "Yes, you're right. I think I'll do the same. I'll wait till morning to say hello." He went around her and started up the stairs to his room, relieved when she continued through the lower hall. Darting to Lucy's door, he whispered her name and then opened it. "Lucy?" he repeated, for in times past that had been more than enough to awaken her. Nothing but silence came to him and he reached around and turned on the light.


	17. Chapter 17

Centuries of solitude had caused him to forget the pleasantness of another's presence, but as he sat holding Lucy in the darkness and staring down at her contentment in half-consciousness, Dracula was insensible to the world, to the faint nudge of awareness that Mina was in peril, even to the danger in lingering there. It was only when the stake plunged into Mina's breast that his head lifted and eyes narrowed as he stared into the darkness, a snarl beginning at the back of his throat. He was torn between his desire to go to her defense and his need to remain. Lucy's hand tightened on his sleeve to prevent his departure. "Please," she whispered, drowsy as his blood spread through her veins, changing her internal organs and removing her mortality as dawn drifted toward them, "stay with me."

She passed into unconsciousness and Jonathan intruded. At the sound of the door opening inward, Dracula released her and fled through the open verandah, drawing it closed after him as he vanished into the darkness. Jonathan waited an instant and flipped on the light. It took him a moment to notice she was sprawled on the edge of the bed and he rushed forward to right her. "What's the matter? Lucy, what it is it?"

Voices approached down the hall and a bleary-eyed Dr. Seward peered into his daughter's room, surprised to find Jonathan in attendance given his daughter's obvious state of undress. His protest was halted by the young man's exclamation that something was terribly wrong. "Dr. Seward, thank God you're here. Quickly, look at Lucy! She's so cold!" He stood by helpless as the two men hurried to her side, her father lifting her hand and fear gripping him as he recognized in her the same symptoms that had claimed Mina in the hours before her death. Jonathan did not know his companion by sight, for he had never known Mina's father, and observed him curiously, offering, "Professor…?"

Barely acknowledging him, Van Helsing offered, "She has lost a great deal of blood."

Their eyes met across the coverlet and the prone form between them. Jonathan looked from one to the other, not fully understanding the significance of their exchange. "There's scarcely any pulse," her father remarked after a pause. "She'll have to be given a blood transfusion. I pray to God that one of us has her type."

"I do." Jonathan for the first time was the focus of their undivided attention, the doctor's brow furrowing as he wondered how this had become known. Still draped in his coat and with hat in hands, the young man said, "It was a lark. Lucy thought it might be entertaining to find out our blood types, so we had it done in London. I thought at the time it seemed providential… I had no idea…" His voice trailed off and his expression became melancholy.

Aware that precious minutes were slipping away from them, Dr. Seward said, "Take off your coat and roll up your sleeves. Swales will fetch the contraption." He shouted for the man and Jonathan sat down to wait, staring at the ashen quality of Lucy's features beneath the soft lamplight. He was still gazing at her when the doctor returned, quiet as he was positioned nearer the bed. Jonathan extended one bare arm, flinching as a needle was driven into it, watching as Seward pumped the blood out of his body and up through a winding tube into her. Silence languished between them, lost in their thoughts but focused on their companion, who did not stir even when they spoke to her. After a time, Jonathan said, "We had an argument before I went to London. I was not very kind to her."

Seward glanced up over the rims of his owl-eye spectacles and refrained from comment. H believed Lucy could do better than Jonathan. Their quarrels were frequent and turbulent. Lucy slammed doors and Jonathan stormed out into the gardens to sulk, only to have them make up hours later with passionate kisses and professions of devotion. But his daughter had always made up her own mind and if she chose to spend the rest of her life with Jonathan, it would be to his benefit that he did not attempt to change her mind.

"I behaved badly. I was jealous and thought…"

"You thought what?" The doctor squeezed the hand pump and more blood swirled through the tube, discolored in the shadows surrounding them. The room was cooler than it should have been but benefitted both patients, for Jonathan looked as if he might faint.

It was on the tip of his tongue to launch a complaint against their new neighbor but in his head it sounded foolish and Jonathan shook his head. "Never mind," he muttered.

He was spared an interrogation by the appearance of Van Helsing on the threshold, accompanied by Toby. The young man was accustomed to the night shift and being up at all hours, so much like everyone else in this portion of the house he was fully dressed and bearing what smelled like a basket of garlic cloves. He was directed to the verandah doors by the professor, who said, "Take these and rub them against the inside of all the doors and windows. Crush them against the glass so the fragrance permeates the whole room and keeps away all evil. And don't forget the little room in there."

Van Helsing indicated the closet and behind him, the short man stretched up as high as he could to follow his orders. The pungent scent of garlic flooded turned Jonathan's stomach. He was not a man of medicine and watching the blood as it rippled through the tube was more than he could handle, much less the strong scent that made his eyes water. "Dear God, Professor, not garlic," he whined. "I'm sick to my stomach as it is!"

Anxious that he might pass out, the doctor demanded, "Are you feeling weak?"

"No." Jonathan shook his head and attempted to calm his dangerously churning insides. "It doesn't matter." But he scowled at the intruder, who seemed nonplussed by his disapproval.

"She needs more than your blood, Jonathan."

"What she doesn't need is to breathe the odor from those wretched plants!"

The professor retorted, "Do not trifle with me! There is a grim purpose in all I do!"

Each glowered at the other. Their companion discreetly continued to rub garlic everywhere, trying not to ingest it. Lucy stayed motionless against the pillow and her father said, "Just a little bit longer." He offered Jonathan a reassuring smile when the man glanced at him, ignoring Van Helsing as he left the room. Descending to the parlor and going to the sideboard to pour a drink, the professor was oblivious to the mood over the house. It was one of uncertainty, for Dracula had not abandoned it utterly. He sensed Mina's presence and landing lightly on the ground beneath Lucy's window, turned his attention to the whisper in the darkness, the weakness of her unconscious voice as she called to him from her stone slab.

Skirting the tombstones and approaching the side door, which he knew to be unlocked, Dracula stepped into the corridor and listened, but it all were busy upstairs and no one intervened as he let himself into the kitchens and went down into the basement. It was an odd place to keep bodies but was cool and dry, his cloak brushing against the narrow walls on the way down. Mina was there; he felt her even as repulsion arose in him, for heavy was the scent of the fragile white blossoms he so detested. He halted at the foot of the stairs and saw them scattered across the floor and resting on the pale, prone form awaiting a second burial. Mina was unconscious, unable to answer his silent commands due to the garlic, an act of her father intended to prevent her escape. Snarling under his breath, Dracula looked across the room at her helplessly, his eyes narrowed in the darkness. Van Helsing must be dealt with, for he was becoming a problem. The others were no threat to him; the doctor was too much of an atheist, and Jonathan Harker was a fool. But Van Helsing, with his crosses and his wafers, was a mounting problem.

It might have been more prudent to abandon the house, but Dracula was too irritated to simply vanish into the night, to return to his castle and feign a lack of involvement while the others attempted to save Lucy's life. He knew when his future wives were dying and sensed a change in her, the restoration of her soul. They could not prevent her from transformation, from slowly turning into an immortal, but they had slowed the process and he might still succeed without the intervention of the professor. He went upstairs, his footstep light on the carpet, listening to the slamming of doors in the distant mental ward and aware of Van Helsing in the lower rooms. Slender hands rested on golden knobs and slowly turned them, pushing inward and finding the source of his frustration along the far wall, a glass of brandy in hand. Rubbing his chin and staring into his reflection in the mirror, the professor muttered, "How in the devil…?"

Closing the doors behind him and allowing them to latch, Dracula hovered on the threshold, hatred burning in his eyes. "I'm not as bad as that," he remarked wryly, and his companion turned, startled. There was an instant of dislike between them, evident distrust and a flicker of suspicion.

The professor had not expected him and it unnerved him the Count could enter a room so quietly, so swiftly, and had lingered about the house rather than vacating it. There was arrogance in his presence, a warning that he was not to be underestimated. Lowering the wine glass to the sideboard, he said, "I did not hear you come in, Count."

"I am often told I have a light footstep." Dracula's features melted into the shadows.

Van Helsing returned his attention to the glass stretching along the wall beside him, which revealed nothing of his companion. "I was looking in the mirror. It reflects the whole room yet I cannot see…"

A vase hurled through the air toward him but struck the mirror and shattered it, fragments falling underfoot as his companion realized his overreaction and turned at the fireside, revealing the haunted contours of his face. Dracula had acted on instinct and done nothing to further his cause, for the professor's suspicions were aroused. With his hand on the mantle, he offered a smile that accompanied his confession of, "Forgive me, Doctor, I dislike mirrors. They are the playthings of man's vanity."

"You are a most unusual creature, Count Dracula."

His choice of word caused a muscle to twitch in the narrow features but choosing pleasantness over aggravation the Count inquired, "How is the fair patient?" He watched the movements of his companion carefully, for the man had drawn further into the room and approached the back of the settee. Toby had gone about faithfully doing as Van Helsing had asked, rubbing garlic on all the windows and doors of the room and when he had finished had left the basket in the parlor. From them originated a faint but discernable odor and Van Helsing concealed reaching for them, knowing the danger in their solitude.

"Her diagnosis presents difficulties."

Both of them knew Lucy would not be safe until her tormentor was dead. Dracula was keenly aware of his influence and while they had hampered it, they had not stopped it. "I feared it might, my friend."

Closing his hand around the long stems of the garlic cloves and hoping his rival's senses were deadened enough not to be aware of their presence, Van Helsing asked, "Would you care to see what I have prescribed for her?"

Dracula rounded the back of the settee. "Anything you have prescribed for Miss Lucy is of the greatest interest to me."

"My prescription is a most unusual one." Van Helsing waited until the Count had nearly reached him and pulled the cloves from behind his back, their scent wavering around him in wispy tendrils that produced a swift reaction in his companion. Dracula threw up one arm, the folds of his cloak rippling in the gloom, and backed away. Light pervaded the shadows and illuminated an unholy gleam in his eyes, darkening them to the color of blood as he retreated, turning in the far reaches of the room and casting his rival a lingering, begrudging glance. Every instinct told him to run but he repressed them, knowing he could not reveal weakness. They stared at one another and the quietness of the house surrounded them, for not even the sound of breaking glass had stirred the others.

With a certain amount of respect, the Count said, "You are a wise man, Professor, for one who has not lived even a single lifetime." He had known much older and more foolish men, but this one had an uncommon amount of intuition. It was years of scholarly research and unwavering faith that made him so wise, so formidable, for though he was old and his body weakened with loss and the ravages of time Van Helsing was a greater adversary than any the Count had before encountered.

"You flatter me, Count." Van Helsing continued to hold the garlic between them, a natural ward against his kind; it was a blood purifier, its scent as dangerous as its intoxication. He would scatter it in his daughter's coffin and pray her soul would find peace. Mina was nothing like the creature before him, for Dracula was unrepentant in his sins. He had taken the last breath of life from one precious girl and intended to do it to another. Van Helsing would not let him have Lucy too. It was apparent in his expression, the determination in his outstretched hand, the anger behind his eyes.

Shadows flickered around them, unfurling around Dracula's tall form as he parted from the wooden paneling. "But not wise enough to return to Holland at once now that you have learned what you have learned."

The gentle soul Lucy knew so well was gone and a ferocious adversary was in his place, cunning and intelligent. It was a warning that it would be prudent for Van Hesling to depart if he intended to keep his life… but what was life now that Mina had died? Van Helsing had no reason to return to his dismal house, a dreary drawing room, the photographs and paintings of his daughter, to remember her as that ghoulish nightmare in the mines forever. Traces of sorrow laced his voice as he responded, "I prefer to remain."

"In the past five hundred years, Professor, those who have crossed my path have all died… some not pleasantly." Fabric fell away from the slenderness of a hand that extended toward him, fingers poised as he said, "Come here!"

Few resisted his influence or commands and Van Helsing was no different than most; a trance came over him and he lowered the garlic. It slipped through his fingers and fell to the floor. Sluggishly, one foot moved forward and he shifted with it, but deep within he fought. The heaviness of his limbs and the weariness of his mind were at war with a force much stronger than himself, and it was only when a desperate prayer escaped that he felt the Count's influence release. He stopped and Dracula sensed his defiance, concern spiraling through him as the claw-like hand descended. "Your will is strong," he marveled. "Then I must come to you."

There was a small country parish in town and beyond it, a magnificent cathedral where lived a very old priest. Most of the local townspeople were not Catholics so he ministered to only a few individuals. He had been surprised when a stranger had entered, reverently making the sign of the cross before the altar and requesting an audience, but over the course of an hour of tea and conversation had warmed to Professor Van Helsing, so much so that he had given him what he asked for, even though it was forbidden for non-members of the clergy to be in possession of such holy ornaments. To a layman it was nothing important, just a small item bearing a religious insignia, but it offered protection against demonic forces. It had been in his pocket since early that afternoon. As the vampire advanced across the small space between them, Van Helsing reached for it, concealing it until Dracula was near enough to suffer its full effects. The holy relic was so close it might have burned him had not he leapt back with a snarl, his companion advancing on him, brandishing the Eucharist.

Overturning one of the nearest potted plants into Van Helsing's path, Dracula attempted to dart to the nearest window but Van Helsing intercepted him, his features set with malice behind the wispy edges of the ornament. Dracula felt power radiating from it, an authority not even he could deny, his true soul crying out as his voice deepened, revealing eternal defiance as he snarled, "Sacrilege!" and fled. Night air drifted into the room through the window in the verandah. The instant his fingers touched the sill they melted into long white fur that rippled over his body as he transformed midway through the leap. His feet left the floor of the parlor and paws hit the ground outside, the wolf darting off into the darkness. Anger threaded through him that they would dare interfere but he would not allow them to obtain victory. He would not relinquish his wife to the old man and the fools surrounding him. Lucy was meant to be with him forever, to be part of him. They might take Mina, but they would not have Lucy.

Similar thoughts raced through the mind of the professor as he stumbled out of the parlor and sank into a chair. Holding a hand over his aching heart, he glanced up as Jonathan and Dr. Seward came down the stairs, the younger rolling up his sleeve. "Abraham," said his oldest friend, "the color is returning to Lucy's cheeks."

He was too relieved to note the weariness in his companion, but Jonathan asked, "Professor?"

"Abraham," said the doctor with concern, resting his hand on the man's shoulder, "what's happened to you?"

Motioning to the open door of the parlor, Van Helsing managed, "Dracula has been here."

Curiously, the younger man peered into the parlor and noticed nothing amiss, much less the sinister form of his client. "What for?" he asked quite innocently, forgetting the lateness of the hour.

"He came to kill me," he said.

Both men stared at him, one in disbelief and the other with mild annoyance.

"He what?" repeated the attorney.

Feeling his heart slow to a more appropriate pace, Van Helsing said, "It is he who is the vampire."

"Abraham," warned his friend, "this night has been a monstrous…"

Interrupting him, Van Helsing insisted, "He came to kill me, and now he will prey upon you."

They stared at one another grimly.

Jonathan looked from one to the other with a baffled expression. "What is happening?" he demanded. "Please, for God's sake, will someone tell me what is happening?"

Pushing his spectacles up on his nose, the doctor said, "It is too late for that now. Abraham, you have had a long journey and very little rest. We should all sleep. Swales will sit up with Lucy. We can discuss this in the morning. You must listen to me, my old friend."

For once there was no protest, for Abraham was tired. He nodded in agreement and rose to his feet with their assistance, loosening his collar and climbing the stairs tiredly to his room. On his way past, he peered in through Lucy's open door and found her resting comfortably against the pillows, curled up on her side with more color in her cheeks. "May God protect you, my child," he said. Lucy did not stir but filled with reassurances, he went to bed, leaving a befuddled Jonathan Harker on the landing beneath him.


	18. Chapter 18

A heavy mist hovered over the graveyard when the three glum figures went out after breakfast. It shifted in eerie white clouds around the mound of earth that had been dug up the night before. Mina was laid out on a table under a sheet, her features pristine in what appeared to be death, but her beauty was so remarkable that her father was not fooled. Straggling along behind them, reluctant to accept all he had told them, was a frustrated Dr. Seward, who was half convinced the horrors of the night before had been nothing more than a nightmare, and a disbelieving Jonathan Harker, who had listened to all the professor told him with an open mouth. Vampires were not a concept he could lightly wrap his mind around, much less accept without great reservations. But it was either to believe what they told him of Mina or to find them both out of their wits, and he was not fully prepared to do either.

Swales stood a short distance from the body, prepared to lend a hand in returning her to her coffin when they were finished, and Toby shifted from one uneasy foot to the other. He was quite young and gangly, odd in his lack of comments but unwavering in his attention as the trio approached. Jonathan was not accustomed to corpses but this one looked like nothing he had ever seen before. Mina was more radiant in death than she had been in life, her cheeks filled with color and her hair resting in chestnut-tinted tendrils around her shoulders. "She looks…"

"Alive?" Her father turned to Jonathan and the solicitor refrained from a response, marveling at his absolute calm, though traces of sorrow were written into his aged features. "She is the devil's undead."

"_Nosferatu_," said the Doctor.

Jonathan remembered the word Dracula had explained to them his first night in Carfax. It seemed forever ago that the ship had been dashed upon the rocks but it had been a mere matter of days in which horrible things had transpired. The charming memory of the Count and his impeccable manners, his quiet voice and gentle manners, returned to him and he shook his head in disbelief. "You cannot seriously expect me to believe Count Dracula is some hideous monster?"

Motioning for Swales to hand him the mirror he had requested be brought out from the house, Van Helsing answered, "I don't expect you to believe anything but what is." He positioned it over his daughter's countenance and invited Jonathan to come nearer and observe. The lawyer stared and took hold of the handle, turning the reflection as if that would make Mina appear in it, but nothing could be seen of her, only the pallet on which she lay. No matter how he turned it, in the mirror she was not there. It was an abnormality they had explained to him but only now seeped into his consciousness, allowing him to slowly comprehend.

"What are you going to do?"

Fog continued to drift about them in listless clouds, the wind caressing Mina's hair and moving it against her slender throat. Resting his hand next to her, his voice breaking as he said it, Van Helsing admitted, "To save her soul, I must take out her heart."

Horror surfaced on the faces of his friends and Seward snatched his arm, gasping, "Heaven and earth, no!"

The mirror faltered and was lowered, Jonathan staring at him in disbelief.

"It is not your choice," Van Helsing said. "She was my daughter."

His hand stroked the top of her head and he thought how much she looked like her mother, far healthier and full of life in death than as the sickly, pale creature that dominated his every thought. He could not bear to think of her as his child, the same one he had embraced whenever she bid him farewell and had kissed away her tears. Little Mina with her giant eyes and unassuming trust, who had made him cry when she went off to school in London for the first time and whose letters were full of adoration for her "Poppa." If he thought of her as his child, he could not bear to open her, to remove a heart that should have remained in her breast, to scatter garlic in her coffin and place a clove in her mouth. It was this or to remove her head and he could not stomach the latter.

"If we fail here," he said with more strength, "it is not merely a matter of life and death, but that we shall become as she. That we and your Lucy—"

"No," protested Jonathan, shaking his head; this he could not allow, "it is not possible!"

"Yes, and _your Lucy—_may become foul things of the night." Van Helsing watched their faces for signs of consent, for agreement, and though neither of them was pleased there was nothing to do about it. They could not prove him wrong and each had seen things that night that could not be explained. "There is work, wise work, to be done."

He took the surgical instruments the doctor had lent to him out of his pocket and opened them on the table. The small silver blades made his hand tremble as he reached for them. She was no longer his daughter, no longer Mina, but a dreadful demon of hell that must not be allowed to live. He would give her eternal rest and pray God would have mercy on her soul. Dr. Seward was a better surgeon than he but did not offer to assist; he stood in the background and watched in a kind of numb incredulousness. Closing his hand around the sharp instrument, Van Helsing said, "And now are the powers of all the devils against us."

It was true, for he could sense the Count's anger across the distance, though it bore no influence on the still form before him. Mina could not awaken as long as the delicate garlic blossoms were still scattered about her, hidden under the sheet he pulled down to reveal her silken undergarments. He was cautious not to reveal too much as he opened her chemise, then with deliberation cut a swift incision.

Corpses do not bleed, but this one did. Blood surfaced with the slice of the knife and flowed onto the table as he worked. Jonathan backed away and retched, turning away from them in an attempt to prevent losing his breakfast. Mina never stirred or flinched, her body cold beneath his fingers. Only Swales was capable of assisting him, for his weathered temperament withstood many things. Van Helsing finished without watchful eyes, removing her heart and placing it in a small box to be buried at the foot of her coffin. When it left her body, a transformation came over her; the rosiness of her cheeks faded into the ashen hue of death and such peace filled her face that he might have wept with relief, for it was apparent she was now gone. He wiped the blood off the incision and it ceased to flow.

Looking rather ill, Toby approached to help lift her into the coffin. Van Helsing placed a bouquet of dried flowers in her hands and scattered garlic flowers across the body, placing a clove in her mouth. He touched the soft curls of her hair once more and whispered farewell, then indicated for them to seal the newly repaired box. The lid was nailed into place and the coffin lowered into the ground. The mist was slowly lifting and could no longer conceal their movements from the house, where a figure was pressed against the window, watching them. Seward insisted on bed rest but his daughter was not compliant and he could not prevent her from rising.

When she had awakened in the early hours, it was to their faces surrounding her with concern. Jonathan had embraced her, and said, "Thank God you've come around, you gave us all a dreadful scare!" Her father had beamed at her and the professor had let out a quiet sigh. It had not pleased her to have them hovering at the end of the bed, but standing in observance of their devious activities in the cemetery pleased her even less. She could not see from this distance what had been done to Mina but felt the Count's displeasure. Though he had gone and their encounter was like a dream, she still felt connected to him. When Van Helsing had bent over his daughter, concealing her body from sight as he worked, Lucy had experienced a fleeting pain above her heart and been unable to prevent the gasp that escaped her lips. It was inexplicable, her companion looking suspiciously at her from her perch at the bedside, where she sat neatly stitching on a pillowcase.

Rage now coursed through her, but not her own anger but his. _How dare they?_

Lifting her head slightly and resuming a calm expression, Lucy said, "Mrs. Galloway, would you be kind enough to make me a cup of tea? I feel rather cold."

Mrs. Galloway never thought the worst of her, nor suspected it was a ruse. "No wonder," she remarked as she put her sewing aside. "The doctor's orders were that you should stay in bed but how he thinks I could keep you there I don't know."

The rustle of her skirts accompanied the opening and closing of the door and footsteps retreated down the hall. Lucy ran to the wardrobe and rifled through it, removing her coat and pulling on her shoes. Catching sight of her reflection in the mirror, she touched the cross that had been returned to her throat and tore it off, throwing it onto her pillow. There was no one in the lower hall and she fled down the stairs, avoiding the step that creaked, and darted into a secondary passage, which took her out through one of the many side entrances. It was not far to the stables and she hesitated when she saw the shiny automobile parked in the lane. It would be best to take it but only Jonathan was strong enough to start it. Knowing it would cause too much noise if she tried she snatched a bridle off the wall and went for her horse. He was surprised to see her but rubbed his head against her shoulder as she hitched him to the little cart. Her absence was long enough that the tea pot whistled and Mrs. Galloway gathered it onto a tray, along with crumpets and the jam she knew Lucy liked. Emerging from the kitchen, she encountered the men in the hall, having just returned from their ghastly outing.

Jonathan was surprised at her appearance, for they had given her strict instructions not to leave Lucy's side. "Where's Lucy?" he asked suspiciously, removing his gloves and turning down the collar of his coat.

"In her room; she's looking much better and asking for tea."

Exchanging a significant glance with the professor, Jonathan bounded up the stairs and burst into Lucy's room. He went to the window and brushed aside the curtain to see her cart speed down the winding road. He did not need to ask where she was going, for it was obvious and he turned to his companions with determination. "I'll get the car!" And he ran out, storming past the astonished Mrs. Galloway and out the front door.

Seward went after him, but Van Helsing caught up the cross she had left behind and shook his head. However much blood she had been given, Lucy was no longer the sweet, sincere young woman he knew. She was changing before their very eyes. "You will not have her!" he promised the distant turrets of Carfax. It loomed over them as they chased her in the car, shouting and honking their horn for her to stop. Lucy glanced back at them, her long hair loose and rippling around her shoulders, and there was such contempt on her face that he shuddered. Jonathan swerved along the narrow road, frustrated that he could not pull off and get ahead of her. There was a narrow opening among the trees to the right and he took it, flooring the gas and driving in a neat arc around the cart. The horse was going so fast it skidded and crashed into the automobile as they piled out, the nearest grabbing its harness. It was unharmed but shaken, the whites of its eyes evident as they converged on the single passenger, who viewed them with open hatred.

"What are you doing?" her fiancé demanded. "Where are you going?"

Arguments had existed between them for as long as they had known one another, for she was stubborn and he was arrogant, but never had she spoken to him in such a voice—devoid of affection and so cold it might have been an address to a complete stranger rather than the man she loved. "_Get out of my way, Jonathan_."

He stared at her in disbelief.

Through the trees could be seen the walls of Carfax Abbey, and the turn-off that led through its iron gates. "There," said Van Helsing, indicating the castle where the count resided, "now you must believe!"

Former fears returned in force, flooding through him as Jonathan rounded the cart and placed his hand near hers. He had thought it madness, paranoia, but now understood the truth, that she intended to go to the monster that had nearly drained the life out of her. "Lucy, you can't possibly go to him!"

Smugness surfaced as she observed them; mere mortals who could not understand. "He's no danger to me."

"He's a _monster_, a vampire!" Jonathan could not have envisioned that such words would come out of his mouth, much less that he would believe in them wholeheartedly, but he had seen enough that acceptance was inevitable. This was not his beloved Lucy, his loving and sweet Lucy, the woman he hoped to marry. Something had taken her over, was influencing her, for he felt certain _she _was not looking at him with those hateful eyes.

"She means to warn him," said Van Helsing with sudden knowing; she had seen them in the cemetery, seen what had been done to Mina, and knew their intentions. It was apparent from the loathing in her gaze that he had guessed correctly but rather than addressing him, she turned to the solicitor and said, quite calmly, "Jonathan, if you try to stop me, I shall kill myself."

Throughout, her father stood in the background wringing his hands and looking distressed but now he took a step forward. Jonathan was staring at her as if he did not know her, and Van Helsing grabbed the cart, forcing her to look at him. "I charge you on your living soul, Lucy Seward, that you do not die or think of death until this great evil which has fouled your life is true dead himself!"

"You dare try to confuse me," Lucy indicated the castle; "tormenting him who is the saddest, the kindest of all."

"_Kind_?" the professor repeated indignantly. "If I could send his soul to everlasting, burning hell, I would!"

Closing her hand around the buggy whip, Lucy smacked him with it hard, anger flaring in her eyes. "I despise you, all of you! Get out of my way!" Brandishing the whip at Jonathan, she forced him to back away but in leaping down from the buggy lost hold of it and he followed, grabbing her around the waist and forced her to the ground. Lucy felt helpless as they converged on her, Jonathan holding her arms so she could not scratch at them, and the professor massaging her temples in an effort to calm her. It was not that so much as exhaustion that overcame her, for the strength Dracula had left her was not enough to resist them for long and soon the world faded.

When she had quieted, her father shook his head and Jonathan looked ghostly against the bare trees overhead. "Take her home, Jack," said the professor as he rose to his feet. "Watch over her."

Frightened at the prospect of having sole command over her in such a state, the doctor scrambled after him. "Abraham, what are you going to do?"

"Miss Lucy's life is at stake, and so is her soul. Jonathan and I must go and find this monster and utterly destroy it!" Looking to their younger friend, Van Helsing was reassured when Jonathan gave a firm nod of agreement. Lifting Lucy in his arms, he carefully deposited her in the cart and waited until her father climbed up beside her. The horse turned toward home and they watched as the wheels bounced over the narrow, rutted road. "She will be all right," the professor consoled him, but Jonathan had doubts. He could not erase the memory of her eyes, so full of hate, any more than he could forget the loathing in her voice. The professor's hand on his shoulder brought him around, and they returned to the car.

Carfax Abbey was intimidating now that he knew what resided in it, more ominous than a mere castle in such disrepair, and he felt a prevailing hint of death as they parked in the long driveway. The thought of Lucy having dined alone with the Count caused him to shudder and he wondered what else had transpired in those hours. She had not returned until the early hours of the morning, her father had said. There were tools beneath the back seat, things he put to use whenever he had a flat tire, and his hand closed around a shovel, the only weapon he could find. Van Helsing carried wafers and a small cross, but it was decided they should fix a larger one out of the scraps of wood in the courtyard. It took some creativity but bearing this makeshift emblem of protection, they skirted the main entrance and went around to the side. Forcing the flat side of the shovel into the crack of the door, Jonathan pushed it open. Immediately, a foul scent arose to greet them, the rotting scent of Mina's victims flooding through the lower chambers and escaping into the air.

"Oh, God, what a stench," Jonathan said, ignoring the disapproving glance this blasphemy earned him. Entering, Van Helsing indicated for him to bring the cross, which Jonathan placed under one arm as he made his way down the winding stairs into the crypts. Hundred year old bones and rats greeted them, the light of their lantern shining against the far columns. There were a number of rooms but he was drawn to the nearest, for the smell was strongest there. Pushing at the door, it would not open all the way and he put his shoulder to it. It slid inward a few inches and he cursed in horror as he saw a body resting on the cold stone floor. The man was recently deceased and stared into nothingness with wide eyes. Once again, Jonathan nearly lost the contents of his stomach and muttered, "Oh, that's foul," as he turned away.

"This … it is not like him. He is more careful. No, this is her work." Van Helsing hated to think of it, to imagine his dear, sweet Mina capable of such brutality, but the Count was subtle in his murders. They would contend with the body later; he could not allow them to be distracted. "Come," he said, and pressed further into the darkness, away from the stench and through a narrow door that revealed the object of their search, a wooden box. Relieved to have found it without alerting the owner to their presence, he put the lantern aside and motioned for Jonathan to assist him. The young man stood poised with the crowbar in readiness and the older one held up a wooden stake he had fashioned from rubble and gave him a swift nod. Rusting nails pulled from the wood with an irritating screech and the lid flipped off, revealing nothing but dirt.

Stunned, neither of them moved until the Count appeared out of nothingness. "Gentlemen," he said, startling them from their disappointment, "how kind of you to call." He glanced deliberately at the far door and it slammed shut, the sound of the latch ominous in the echoing silence. His movements were deliberate as he considered the intruders. Jonathan was somewhat intimidated but Van Helsing merely tired.

"I have underestimated your powers, Count Dracula, to move about in daylight hours."

Mortals always assumed vampires were helpless in daylight, that only at night could they wander the earth. He needed only a few hours sleep and no more, for the rest of the time he spent wandering the halls of his residence. "It is always daylight somewhere on earth, Professor. After my rest, my need is only to stay in darkness."

His attention turned to Jonathan and his nearness must have unnerved the solicitor, for he snatched up the cross and held it out before him. Its appearance startled the Count and instinctively he drew back but then a smile came to his face, for he knew the young man did not mean it. There was no faith in him, nothing but emptiness; it was only a symbol, for it failed to represent any true belief in the divine. It was true believers who threatened him, who might defeat him, not petty fools brandishing makeshift crosses. He lunged forward. Jonathan could not move as the Count's hand closed around the wooden base. All he could focus on was the intensity of the vampire's eyes as it burst into flames. Dracula cast it aside and the attorney grabbed the shovel, holding it defensively as the Count sneered at him, "You fools! Do you think with your crosses and your wafers you can destroy me? _Me_! You do not know how many men have come against me! _I am the king of my kind_!"

Rage faded and his manner calmed, his tone lacking indignation as his contempt evaporated. "You have accomplished nothing, Van Helsing. Time is on my side. In a century when you are dust I shall wake and call Lucy, my queen, from her grave."

"No!" Jonathan could not contain the cry that escaped his lips, but hated the amusement that accompanied the Count's glance in his direction. He was tall and impressive in the gloom, shrouded in a cloak that fluttered in his wake, and he wondered then why he had not seen it before, why he had not understood that he was dangerous. His correspondence was polite and charming, his arrival without suspicion among the people who encountered him, his appearance at dinner nothing less than magnificent, but all along Jonathan should have sensed evil in him; it stared out at him through those penetrating dark eyes.

They could not understand the passion that drove Dracula, a loneliness they could not fathom. He had watched everyone he knew and loved pass into eternity without him; even his wives had been killed over the centuries by irate villagers and righteous priests. He had known the instant he saw her that Lucy was meant to be the greatest of them, for her soul was like his, united in a common restlessness that kept her distant from her peers. It was why she never let Jonathan in, why she told him nothing of her ambition, why she gave him kisses but nothing more. She would never be with him, never marry him, never love him—Dracula could see it in her soul. He wanted to torment Jonathan for being so arrogant, for attempting to tame her when she should not be tamed but unleashed into the world. Lucy could conquer it with him.

"I have in my time had many brides, Mr. Harker, but I shall set Lucy above them all."

He would return her to Transylvania and the castle to teach her his ways, and then… he would show her all the places she longed to see, allow her to experience everything she craved. It would take centuries but time would mean nothing to them. Even now he could feel her, for her blood and his mingled in their veins. She had awakened and he felt her anger as deeply as his own.

"You won't get Lucy." Jonathan was firm in spite of the unease in his spirit, but his confidence faded as Dracula considered him with a smile. Across the miles he sensed her reaction to her imprisonment and it exited him.

"She is mine already."

Driven mad with rage and jealousy, Jonathan swung the shovel at him and Dracula transformed, the folds of his cloak flowing into wings. Jonathan struck out at him, cursing all the while. As the bat fluttered overhead, the edge of his weapon caught the lantern and sent it crashing to the floor. What faint flicker had originated in it was gone, leaving all to darkness. He let out a cry of pain as fluttering wings and sharp talons raked his face, the bat sinking its teeth into his throat and driving him to the ground. "Professor!" he shouted into the pitch blackness, aware of the faint sound of his companion, "_help me_!"

In the gloom Van Helsing saw a trace of light and went toward it. One of the windows was boarded over and a narrow beam held the shutters in place, wedged against the cement floor. Aware of the screaming and flailing of the man in the background, he started to hammer at the beam, hoping to bring it down. The dull _thunk_ resounded in the space, echoing eerily in the silence, and gave way. Rotting leaves, earth, and sunlight poured into the crypt. With a shrill shriek of anguish and hatred, the bat fled, smoke unraveling in his wake. Van Helsing hastened to help Jonathan to his feet, finding him pale and trembling with an angry gash on the side of his face. Removing a holy wafer from his pocket, Van Helsing broke it into pieces and placed it in the earth of the coffin.


	19. Chapter 19

Lucy awoke in her room. At first she did not know where she was or what had happened but slowly consciousness returned. Her eyes narrowed as her pulse increased, rage at what Jonathan, her father, and the professor had done to her manifested in the firmness of her mouth as she sat up. Mrs. Galloway saw her stir and approached full of concern. But before anything could pass her lips, Lucy asked quite calmly, "Where is my father?"

"He's in his study, Miss Lucy."

There was something abnormal in the young woman's expression that made the older woman wary of her reaction. Lucy was different somehow, more calm than she should have been under the circumstances. She nodded. "I see. And where is Jonathan?"

"He's out… with the professor." Mrs. Galloway hastened to block the door as Lucy rose to her feet, the flowing sleeves of her gown rippling as she went to the mirror. Her image was hazy, her eyes focused on the contours of her features and the pallor of her cheeks. Looking at the housekeeper's reflection, Lucy considered her with a trace of a smile, but beneath her quiet appearance was an ever-increasing anger that flooded through her in waves of righteous indignation. How dare they treat her like this? How dare they act as if she were a child? How dare they wrestle her to the ground like some deranged lunatic in need of imprisonment in the asylum?

She felt Dracula's anger alongside hers, his presence in the room even though he was miles away, and it was his influence that prevented her from showing her true feelings. Biting her lips to turn them red, Lucy ran her fingers through the loose waves of her hair and started toward the door. Mrs. Galloway leapt in front of her, closing her hand around the knob and saying, "This time you really are to stay in bed… doctor's orders." She did not say how distraught Dr. Seward had been when he had brought his daughter home in the carriage, nor how he had paced up and down the floor of her room for more than an hour muttering under his breath, "Oh, dear… oh, dear, oh, dear!" Finally, he had retreated to his study and shut himself up with his books, informing her that he was not to be disturbed unless Lucy asked for him or there was "some trouble."

"Trouble?" the housekeeper had asked, bemused. "What sort of trouble?"

He looked at her strangely with a haunted gleam in his eye and shook his head. "No trouble, I'm sure. Sensible girl, she is, like her mother… far too sensible for any nonsense."

Mrs. Galloway did not think she was too sensible for nonsense, for Lucy was different and there was something intimidating, almost dangerous, about her as she stood in the center of the room.

"I am quite recovered and want to speak with my father," Lucy said convincingly, lightly, as if nothing were wrong. But the housekeeper did not trust her, not the expression of reassurance on her face or the eerie softness of her words, for she spoke in a lower tone than usual, much calmer than usual. It reminded her of the languid tone of the Count, though without the flourish of an accent. Lucy approached with an expression of happiness that did not ring true and reached for the woman's hand, gripping it with a strength that astounded Mrs. Galloway. "Out we go, then," Lucy said with forced pleasantness, and removed the woman from her path without effort.

Her presence in the passage startled Toby, who leapt out of the chair where he had been keeping watch at the insistence of the doctor. Though he was a small, wiry man, he stepped courageously into her path. Lucy sent him flying and he shouted for the physician as his head hit the wall with a thud and he slid to the floor. Swales emerged from the lower corridor and Dr. Seward appeared above. Lucy started down the staircase and the butler grabbed her, his size and strength preventing her escape as her father shouted for him to be careful. She fought him like a wild animal, snarling at him with angry eyes.

"I couldn't keep her in her room, Doctor," Mrs. Galloway said, gripping her injured wrist. She shuddered at the look of absolute hatred on Lucy's face but Swales kept a firm hold on her arms, keeping them pinned to her waist.

"I don't know what to do with her… oh, dear, oh, dear." Seward wished the professor was there, that Jonathan was there, that anyone who might know what to do was there, but he was alone. Lucy glared at him with contempt, mussed from their exchange. Swales looked at him and he knew what was passing through his old friend's thoughts but it was too dreadful to voice. "No, I couldn't," he whispered.

"Couldn't what?" demanded Mrs. Galloway.

"Sir, it's the only place for her. She's already hurt one of us." Swales indicated Toby with a jerk of his head; the boy saw stars as he staggered forward, pressing a hand to the back of his skull. There was no blood but he felt quite certain his brain had been severely rattled. The doctor looked at him and cringed, pale beneath the wisps of thinning dark hair that framed his ears. The only alternative was to give her laudanum and he could not bear that; he had seen how others suffered and would not torment his daughter. If Lucy would not stay in her room, he would put her somewhere she could not get out. He nodded and Swales agreed, turning her on the spot and marching her down the hall.

Mrs. Galloway forgot about her injuries and followed the doctor down the stairs. "You can't put her in there!" she said, aghast at the thought of locking her up in the asylum. "She's not mad!"

"At the moment, I don't know _what _she is! But she is certainly not sane! She must stay there until Professor Van Helsing returns… he will know what to do." He followed at a distance, unable to watch as Swales dragged Lucy through the gate that separated the asylum from their living quarters. She was furious and fought him the entire way, kicking and screaming, hurling insults and threats that set all the inmates to howling. Some beat the sides of their heads and screeched; others curled up in corners and covered their ears. There was a padded cell recently vacated and Swales threw her into it, slamming the door and locking it shortly before they heard her body fall against it. The padding muffled her fists as they pounded against the sides and she shouted for them to let her out.

"God help us," whispered her father, stricken at what he had done.

The noise continued for some time and then she fell silent. He felt sick and retreated, attempting not to think about his actions as he waited for the return of his friend. In her prison, Lucy sank onto the bed, springs creaking under her weight. The walls were stained with dark patches and the place had a horrible stench. It was more than bodily fluids but also despair, woven into every nuance of the room where so many people had been shut up in self-preservation. There were no windows or other doors and only meager ventilation. It was claustrophobic and reminded her of a grave in which she must live out the rest of her life in eternal mindless solitude. But she knew he would come for her, as he had promised her they would never be apart. She had but to wait, and while she waited, she considered what she would do when the professor and Jonathan returned.

Sobriety and an appeal for forgiveness seemed her best method of manipulating them, and she went over what to say in her head as she paced back and forth like a caged animal, listening for the familiar sound of Jonathan's automobile and hoping the Count had gotten the better of them. It was not far from the truth as they retreated from the house and threw their shovels into the back of the car, Jonathan wiping blood off his face and the professor's brow furrowed in thought. They had searched the castle completely but not found Dracula either in human or bat form. He had vanished and there was nothing for it but to return home. The winding road seemed more ominous now that they knew what lurked in the shadows, and it was sobering to return to the asylum.

Dr. Seward was sitting on the lower step in the hall when they entered and bolted upright when he saw them. "Thank God you've come back," he said in great agitation. "Lucy has… well… what happened to you, Jonathan?" He saw the gruesome gash in the young man's cheek and the attorney waved it off dismissively.

"What about Lucy? Has she come around?" Jonathan pulled off his gloves and stuffed them in the pocket of his coat, handing it off to the sullen-looking housekeeper, who cast a treacherous glance at the doctor that did not go unnoticed. Her disapproval had been evident from the instant the doctor had turned the key on his daughter and she was not speaking to him, not that he blamed her. Jonathan's innocent question prompted a rather hysteric-driven chuckle and he said, "Oh, yes, she came around. Come, Abraham, come and have a look at her. Did you… deal with him? Did you find him? Count Dracula?"

The professor followed him through the house and expressed surprise as they passed into the ward. "We found him but could not finish him. He is more dangerous than I supposed. But we found his crate…"

"Only one of them," Jonathan said sourly, for they had spent the better part of two hours searching for its mate. They had encountered all number of rats, spiders, and other unsavory elements to that dreadful old house that would forever haunt his dreams, but not discovered the place in which he had concealed the rest of his "earth." The professor had explained to him that Dracula needed it to remain healthy in foreign soil and could not be defeated unless they found and poisoned all of them. Self-loathing entered his voice as he said incredulously, "I _helped _him! I saw that two of those crates were safely delivered from the ship!"

Passing inmates who were wandering about staring at the ceiling and pushing open imaginary doors, Van Helsing replied, "You must not blame yourself. He probably had other coffins brought to him in other ways. You know this man's cunning."

"My poor Lucy!" moaned the doctor. "He's probably got them scattered all over Whitby by now."

He felt the hand of his friend on his shoulder.

"Then we will find them and tear them open one by one."

Reassured, Dr. Seward nodded as they came to the door behind which resided his daughter. Toby had been told to guard it zealously and nervously came to his feet with their approach as the doctor fumbled with his keys.

"In there?" Jonathan demanded. "She can't possibly be…"

"I couldn't help it," her father said miserably. "When she came around, she was like a wild thing." He did not trust his hands to remain steady and handed Toby the keys. Pushing his cap further back on his head, the young man fitted the right one into the lock.

"You have given her medication?" the professor supplied; "laudanum?"

Forgetting for a moment that he had given Mina such a prescription, the doctor shouted, "My own daughter, certainly not!" He was oblivious to the obvious injury this response caused, the resentment and anguish of a father brushed aside for his own misery, but the professor allowed the conversation to lapse, distracted by Jonathan, who asked to be allowed to see her alone. There was no arguing with him, as he wore a haunted expression they knew well, a desperate attempt at self-reassurance that she was still his Lucy. The encounter on the road and the cruelty in which she had addressed him had shaken him more than he cared to admit, and his companions had not the heart to discourage him.

As he reached for the door, the professor rested his hand on Jonathan's shoulder and said, "Remember, Jonathan, she is not what she will seem."

It was an ominous warning and accompanied his entrance into the room. It was more repulsive than he could have imagined: a padded cell with only a single cot on which a slender form sat with her head in her hands. Gentle brown curls covered her shoulders and caressed her back, his presence unnoticed as she was lost in her thoughts. As a frail trickle of light passed over her she looked up and her face brightened, stained with tears. "Jonathan!" she said, noticing how he remained distant from her rather than coming forward. Their previous exchange had made him weary and Van Helsing had warned him not to get too close. "What happened to your face?"

He did not answer and her features fell with obvious disappointment. "You're frightened of me too, aren't you? Oh, it can't be! I don't understand. I don't understand what's happening to me."

Lucy's face fell into her hands again and she sensed his hesitant approach, accompanied with a sigh of relief.

"You seem yourself again."

Jonathan was reassured so easily, convinced without much effort on her part. She could not help considering what an idiot he was. He was near enough she might have reached out to him but instead she allowed him to come to her in an attempt to persuade her it was all right. He would take her out of this place, out of this dreadful room. The others would agree once they saw her recovered. Clearly, whatever madness had taken hold of her was now retreating. "I've never felt so weak," she murmured piteously.

"Weak?" he repeated, bemused. "You had the strength of ten men!"

The springs creaked as he sat down beside her. Lucy took his hands and caressed them, finding it calmed him as she prepared her questions. Memories of the previous night returned, deeply erotic, impassioned thoughts that might have colored her features in former times but now merely brought satisfaction into her eyes. She shielded them from him as she asked softly, "Jonathan, can you still love me?"

For his part, he did not know all of what had transpired, only that Dracula had drunk her blood; he suspected no more than that, in his innocence. "I worship you."

Throwing her arms around him, Lucy held him close to conceal her disbelief, for it was much a lie as it was a sort of truth. When she drew back to meet his gaze, there was no distrust evident. In the same sweet, mild tone that had so disconcerted the housekeeper, Lucy asked, "Will you tell me something?"

What it was about her that made him so calm, Jonathan did not know. He knew he should be careful but the odd euphoria in her presence prevented him from more than muttering, "Of course."

He looked adoringly at her, wondering why he had never thought of her as quite so beautiful before, her lips so red, her eyes so penetrating, and her hair so soft. Lucy was magnificent in spite of her torrid surroundings and he tried not to think of the bed beneath them and what might be done on it. Lucy appeared innocent as she asked sweetly, "What were you doing, you and my father and the professor, in the cemetery to Mina?"

Cold fingers continued to wrap around his hands, distracting him from the warnings that flooded through his mind. The professor had told him to tell her nothing. _It may be that Dracula knows her thoughts and can see into her mind. You must be cautious to reveal nothing_. Lucy was inviting him to drown in her expression, in the depths of her mesmerizing eyes, and he fought to retain control of his emotions. "I can't," he uttered passionlessly, as if in a haze. The room seemed to recede around them, to grow distant and he knew he was being manipulated.

Her beautiful lips curled into a pout and she said, "You say you love me, but you don't trust me!"

Jonathan could not bear it, could not bear hearing that from her, seeing the hurt in her face. "Oh, Lucy, with my life, my soul," he pleaded.

"Then tell me. What were you doing, you and the professor, at Carfax?"

Awareness was seeping through him in spite of her nearness, in spite of her hands on him and her body pressed against him. Jonathan knew he could not remain with her without revealing all and pulled away from her, rising to his feet and retreating to the far wall. "Lucy, please!" It came out more violently than he intended and he wished it had not been so as he pressed his forehead against the padded wall. It smelled foul and he turned as her soft voice wafted across the space.

"There's no need to hide your schemes and your plots from me, is there?"

She was so beautiful and desirable he wanted to tell her everything… "No."

Either annoyance or amusement passed across her face and she slowly arose, moving to the far wall and resting against it. "Jonathan, it's no use," she said, retreating to the corner and hovering there, the sleeves of her pale gown enveloping her like the wings of a bat. They fluttered and unfurled beneath each movement as she crept nearer, stalking him in a manner he would have found disconcerting if she were not so wonderful. "Whatever he wants to know, he finds out. He knows everything you think, everything you do."

This caused him to shudder and he asked her to stop. "All right," she whispered, nodding, but continued in her approach, reaching for him. He knew it was wrong and dangerous, that she was not herself, but was incapable of resistance as she caressed the side of his face. "There's nothing to be frightened of," she said. "I love you." He shook his head and made a faint murmur before her lips lightly touched his, a soft and gentle caress that broke through all his resistances and caused him to melt beneath her influence. He was in a trance, a haze, knowing no more than the softness of her mouth against his as she moved him toward the cot. She felt his heart beating in his breast, sensed his fear in spite of his lack of resistance, but most of all could feel his blood as it pulsed through his veins.

Lucy lifted her head to consider his throat, bare to her influence. Lust entered her eyes, coloring them in a dusty haze as she opened her mouth to reveal her fangs. Jonathan cried out as her teeth penetrated his throat, loud enough that the door burst open and the professor charged in. He had known what would happen and was ready. Held out before him was the wooden crucifix that had accompanied him from Holland, a meager church ornament but one that had a profound effect on Lucy, who shrank away from it as she was dragged off Jonathan and melted into the sweat-stained pillows. The nearer it came to her, the more she resisted until suddenly she reached for his hand. He stiffened but she did no more than caress the object. She took it from his fingers, her eyes retaining their natural hue as she lifted her head to press her lips to the wooden figure. He released it and she fell back into the pillows, holding it against her breast as she drifted into unconsciousness.

These unusual responses seemed to come and go, for she was nothing if inconsistent. Dracula had given her enough blood to transform her but it was incomplete and faint traces of her humanity were preserved. It reassured them that she slept holding the symbol of faith. Jonathan did not want to leave her but was convinced she would be well looked after. He reached out and caressed the side of her face, brushing a dark tendril across her cheek and turned as the sound of a commotion reached them from the outer corridor. Swales was wrestling a short man from his cell, holding a jar of bugs out of reach of the grasping, grimy fingers. Jonathan was shocked at Renfield, a far cry from the man who had traded casual insults with him in the past. He was pale and sickly in appearance, his eyes gleaming with bloodlust as he attempted to swipe the jar from the older man's deft fingers. "Give me them back!" he shouted. "Give me them back! Give me them back! Dr. Seward, make him give me them back!"

Repulsion was evident on Swales' face as he extended the jar for examination. "He's collecting bugs!"

"Bugs?" repeated the doctor curiously, for this was new behavior among his patients. Most of them ignored or squashed any unfortunate pest that happened across their path. A few talked to them but none collected them. Van Helsing donned a pair of reading glasses and took the jar, looking over the contents, where cockroaches crawled over one another in a vain attempt to escape.

"And he's eating them alive! He's disgusting!"

Renfield sneered at him. "You'll see what disgusting is when _he_ comes."

As he returned the jar to its previous holder, Van Helsing said, "Excuse me, when who comes, please?"

The little man stared at him meaningfully and seemed almost sane. "You know," he said in a calm, rational voice. It was as if nothing had happened as he returned to his insults. "Give me them back, you crap-brain old buzzard!" He made one final lunge for the jar and Swales jerked it out of reach. Shrugging off the restraining hands that held him, Renfield shrugged. "You've got no blood in you anyway. Besides, I've got one here that you didn't find!" With a dramatic flourish, he produced a cockroach from his sleeve and stuffed it into his mouth. Jonathan visibly gagged and Van Helsing's eyebrows shot up into his hairline.

Swales grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and said, "In the strait jacket with him!"

His attendants forced Renfield back into his cell, leaving the three men standing in stunned silence. None of them had missed his remark about blood. Renfield had been his attendant, his houseman, his servant. Jonathan remembered the eerie old house and the man's irrational behavior in the back of the car when he had pleaded for rescue. He was completely mad and Jonathan was sorry for it. None of them knew what to say, for all of them were thinking the worst. Then the doctor offered hesitantly, "Do you think Dracula will come back tonight?"

"Of course he will."

All knew he had unfinished business. Lucy was what he wanted most and he _would_ come for her. In the background, they could hear Renfield taunting his captors as they forced him into a strait jacket. Fear threaded through all of them and the doctor nodded thoughtfully, asking, "When?"

That, no one knew, although all looked to the professor for guidance. He shrugged and answered, "We must be prepared." It was far from reassuring but all they had.

It was a long afternoon followed by an anxious evening, each shadow bearing an ominous warning that night would soon be upon them. Van Helsing sat in the study and continued to read his books. Jonathan paced back and forth and mused aloud on methods that might stop the Count. He knew he would feel safer with a revolver in hand and went to his room to fetch it from the bottom of his trunk. Lucy disapproved of guns and he had not shown her this one, a particularly fine weapon purchased recently in London. It took him awhile to find the bullets and he rummaged around until his hand closed around a little box. But it was not the one he sought; this one was from a jewelry establishment and he hesitated as he looked at it. Inside was an engagement ring he had picked out months earlier. He had been waiting for the right moment to ask her, but it had never come. Lucy was too independent, too full of plans for the future. In her mind there was law school, an internship at his law offices; once she had made her way in the world, she _might _consider marriage.

"_You and Miss Seward will marry_?"

"_Yeah, I guess so_."

His conversation with the Count returned to haunt him. It was strange to believe that only a few days earlier he had considered the Count little more than a rival and now thought of him as a deadly adversary. For all his fine manners and gentility, the heart of a fiend lurked beneath the charming façade. He had transformed Lucy into a monster. Angrily shoving the box among his things, Jonathan found the case of bullets and pocketed them along with the revolver. It was nearing dinnertime and while none of them had an appetite, they made an attempt. It was impossible to eat thinking of Lucy locked up and they pushed food around their plates, not even the doctor giving into his normally voracious appetite. Jonathan drank three glasses of wine to steady his nerves and all were silent in the awkward interval that passed. The hall clock chimed the lateness of the hour. Dr. Seward went on his rounds, reassured by Toby that Lucy had not made a sound or given them further turmoil, checking in on Annie, who was nearly unconscious he had been forced to give her so much laudanum to stop her screaming, and even glanced in at Renfield, who stood at the far window with his face pressed against the bars.

Shaking his head and for the first time in twenty years detesting his job, the doctor went into the asylum office and sat down to play cards with Swales, since it was likely they would be up all night. He sorted the hands while he waited for the light step that would return his lanky associate. Swales had been with them for many years; as far back as he could remember. He was gruff and blunt in his opinions but the closest thing to a true friend Seward had. He'd watched Lucy grow from childhood into… what, exactly, a murderous vampire?

"God help us," he muttered, shaking his head. He glanced at the clock on the far wall. Half past eleven.

The asylum seemed far too quiet. He wondered when the Count would arrive.


	20. Chapter 20

Servants were more trouble than they were worth, in Dracula's opinion. In Transylvania he had been forced to use the gypsies, thieving, murderous creatures that suited his purpose but were untrustworthy because they served him out of fear rather than adoration. They had good cause to fear him, for whenever they got out of line or tried to bring about his end through devious means, he paid them back in kind. The third time this had been attempted and failed they had seen the futility of it and ceased all attempts. Renfield had been a disappointment. Normally, small and uninteresting men of such feeble minds were vulnerable to powerful influences but his fear overwhelmed his common sense and he had gone running to Jonathan Harker for redemption. Dracula considered allowing him to live, for he did not seem worth the effort of being taught a lesson. But as he was forced to invade the asylum anyway, it seemed more than prudent to tie up all loose ends.

For the entire afternoon and most of the evening, the Count had nursed his wounds while increasing his anger. He was unaccustomed to having his home invaded, his coffin polluted, his life threatened. Over the centuries a few foolish men had attempted it but none had succeeded and their ends had been unpleasant. Jonathan Harker was a fool and easily dealt with but Van Helsing was formidable. He was a man of unwavering faith and unshaken conviction, a strong definition of right and wrong present in his mind that would allow for no exceptions, not even in an attempt to placate solitude. Dracula hated him not for his intervention so much as his lack of understanding. He might offer Lucy eternity, a life without death that allowed her to become more beautiful, more powerful, more desirous, but that was not what they wanted for her. No, they wanted her to be mortal. The very word offended him. What did mortals know of true life? Of centuries of existence and experiences, of watching the world transform around you in a slow but never-ending pace while you remained the same? Of the wisdom such longevity brings? He longed to protect her, to make her his eternal companion, to never be forced to turn away from her beautiful eyes. Lucy understood him. She _was _him. They were the same soul in two separate bodies.

It was dangerous to return for her, and it would have been far safer to retreat to London, but he would not go without her. He sensed her despair and frustration across the miles, her anger at her imprisonment and her plea for him to rescue her, for she trusted him. Darkness unfurled around him as he left Carfax Abbey, having prepared the crate they would travel in come morning. He had made all the arrangements for it to be picked up and delivered to the harbor, where a boat to Transylvania was to set sail on the early tide. It was safer not to be seen crossing the moor and he transformed into a wolf, keeping to the shadows as he approached the house. It was surprisingly quiet, though he knew all of them were waiting for him. Normally he would have stirred the inmates with his presence but this time encouraged them to be peaceful, suspecting the professor would anticipate a disturbance. He knew instinctively which window belonged to Renfield and returning to human form, started to ascend, crawling easily up the side of the building, his dark cloak billowing around him in the moonlight.

"They shouldn't have tied me up like this," Renfield complained to the spider in the corner of his cell. "I would have gone quiet, like a kitten. I'd like a kitten, a nice little sleek playful kitten that I could feed you to. I'd play with him, and I'd stroke him, and I'd feed him…" His babbling continued as he glanced over the ledge and his blood ran cold when he saw the murderous being ascending toward him. Panic rushed through him and accompanied his mad dash to the door, throwing his bulk against it and arousing his companion, who was also in a strait jacket and chained to his bed. "Swales!" he screamed. "Mr. Swales, he's coming to get me!"

Annoyance was on the countenance of the man who threw open the little window on the oak door.

"He's climbing straight up the wall to get me! I'm dying and he's laughing with his red mouth and those sharp white teeth of his, like rats, hundreds and thousands and millions of them!"

Swales grunted his disapproval and slammed the window shut. Renfield collapsed against the door, heart pounding as the glass of his window shattered. Two strong hands fell into the moonlight and ripped the iron bars out as easily as if they had been paper. Renfield sank lower against the far wall as mist seeped into the room, swirling into the form of the Count, who stepped forward with grim intensity in his expression. "Oh, God, help my poor soul," squeaked Renfield. His master said his name, ominously. Cringing in the massive shadow the foreigner cast, Renfield pleaded, "I'm a slave. I'm a dog, Master. But please don't kill me. For the love of God, let me live."

He gasped as Dracula grabbed him, pulling him further into the room and forcing him to his knees. Now that he had the dribbling traitor before him, the vampire felt nothing but contempt for his weakness. He might have given Renfield immortality were it not for fear overcoming him. "Did I not promise you that you should come to me at your death and enjoy centuries of life and power over the bodies and souls of others?"

Memories of their conversation in the dankness of the crypts returned to him. Renfield was so terrified he could hardly speak. "But I don't _want_ human lives."

"You betrayed me," Dracula snarled, his hands remaining on the poor man's shoulders. "You sought to warn them all against me."

Feeling the weight of these malevolent caresses, Renfield said, "Then punish me. Torture me. I deserve it. But please, let me live." He stared up into a cold, unfeeling, inhuman face, pale in the silvery light streaming through the far window. Dracula caressed the side of his head with gentle hands, the same hands that had given Lucy so much pleasure the night before and caused the cross Jonathan had brandished at him to burst into flames. His anger calmed and his voice was very quiet, escaping his lips in no more than a tranquil whisper.

"Oh, Renfield, you disappoint me so."

There was a sharp twist and an audible snap as Renfield's neck broke. Dracula allowed the body to slip through his fingers and collapse on the floor, blood spurting from the man's mouth as his terrified companion set up a howl. The ward exploded into commotion, screaming inmates sensing his presence at last. Toby was startled from his place and leapt to his feet, uncertain if he was permitted to leave Lucy's door or not, watching as Swales raced past him with the doctor hot on his heels. He did not observe the fine trail of smoke that threaded behind him and fed into the padded cell beneath the doorway. Dracula manifested on the other side and Lucy arose from where she was crouched in the corner, relief crossing her face as she ran into his open embrace. Holding her against him, Dracula threw one outstretched hand in the direction of the exterior wall and it exploded outward in a tremendous sound of crashing brick. Wind whipped through the opening, tousling her hair as he led her to the edge and placed her arms around his neck.

"Do you trust me?" he asked her, and clinging to him, without looking out over the yawning emptiness beneath them, Lucy nodded, love in her eyes. She held onto him as he crawled out of the window, nestled against his back, completely calm as he carried her down the side of the asylum. Overhead, crashing footsteps accompanied the harried jangle of keys as the door was forced open. Jonathan shoved past his companions and ran to the window. He saw their descent and in his madness drew his revolver. Dr. Seward cried out a warning for him not to fire it, for he was certain to miss and hit Lucy instead, or worse, cause her to fall to her death. Jonathan turned and ran, skidding down the stairs in the direction of the stables that housed his automobile.

Reaching the ground, Dracula took Lucy's hand and ran with her across the hills, retreating from the eerie headstones of the graveyard and the massive tower of white stone that made up the establishment. They went cross country rather than the road and the further they went in the moonlight, the weaker she became. Lucy had not eaten all day, for she could not stomach food and without blood her strength was waning. Dracula drew her into his arms, finding her all but weightless as she nestled her head against his shoulder, trusting him to protect her. Dawn was approaching in the distance and he could feel Lucy slipping away from him, her life waning. If he did not stop, she would be lost to him. Tendrils of vapid light appeared in the east as he entered the trees and placed her gently on the ground beneath a massive oak. Orange and yellow leaves surrounded her as she lay motionless, her dark hair spread out in a fan around her.

"Lucy," he whispered, cradling the back of her head. Most of her color had gone and she did not respond to him, only the redness of her lips evident in the gloom and the shifting mist that surrounded them, concealing them from anyone who might pass by. His hand caressed her side and he touched his lips to hers, prompting a mild response as she struggled to retain consciousness. The velvety folds of his cloak enveloped her as he opened his sleeve, exposing his forearm and offering it to her. Lucy was not aware enough of her surroundings to understand, but the animalistic instinct thrived in her and he was not surprised when it took hold. Survival was first for their kind; she had attempted to take Jonathan out of necessity rather than cunning, and would drink from him to save herself. There was reluctance in her eyes but hunger in her lips as she kissed his wrist, then sunk her teeth into him.

Pain traveled up his arm but he did not pull away, stroking her hair with his free hand as she continued to drink, awareness and color returning to her with each caress. Lucy felt the coldness of the earth beneath her, the rustle of the leaves and the chill in the air as it crept toward morning. His blood was sweet and warm, coursing over her tongue and satisfying an urge she did not recognize. He did not tell her when it was enough, for as her strength returned she released him. This time it was she who drew him down to her and kissed him, not weakly as before but with lustful passion. "Come," he said, for they could not linger there. He drew her to her feet and with her hand clasped in his, they ran together through the wooded hills toward the distant towers of Carfax. He knew that was where they would come searching for them first and had taken precautions to hide them well. The door burst open and she followed him up the stairs and the labyrinth of corridors, through a concealed door at the far end that led down into a lower crypt at a separate entrance from the rest of the house.

The air was cool and damp down here, Lucy lingering on the threshold as Dracula strode forward and opened the lid of the crate. He turned and stretched out his wounded arm in the shadows. "Lucy, come to me," he said, and for a moment she hesitated. The crate unnerved her, for as much as she loved him she could not bear to be in another tight space alone.

_You will not be alone_.

He said it in her mind and she responded, running to embrace him and feeling the comfort of his arms. She wanted to be like him, forever to stay with him, to forsake her previous life and dreams for what he might offer her, an eternity of excitement and passion. He sensed how much she yearned to change and drew back from her slightly to look into her eyes. "You must go on a bit longer as a creature of the sun," he said, "only until we have left behind those who would destroy us."

Breathless, she whispered, "And then?"

His hand trailed the contours of her face, marveling at her beauty even though she was still mortal. "Then you will join me on a higher plane, feeding on them. We will create more of our kind, Lucy."

A tremor of excitement passed through her and he drew her against him once more, delighted with how she melted against him, a perfect fit. She did not doubt him as he lifted her into the coffin, waiting for him to settle on the earth beside her. When he did, she rested her head against his chest and entwined her fingers in his shirtfront. Dracula drew the lid down and the nails drove into the wood, securing their resting place. There was nothing but darkness and the sound of her breathing as it slowed into drowsiness. Nestled against him, Lucy felt secure and confident that when awareness returned, they would be distant from those who sought them. She thought not of her father or Jonathan or even Van Helsing, only of the being beside her, one who liberated her completely from the restraints of society and offered her something profound. He too slept, deeper than she did, but his consciousness was aware of everything around him, of the frantic turning of wheels as the automobile slid on the gravel that made up the drive in front of the house.

Jonathan sprang from the car almost before it stopped and stormed into the house, shouting, "Lucy!"

Nothing but emptiness responded to him, his voice echoing in the rooms and he ran through them, throwing open doors and continuing to shout her name. Dr. Seward and the professor followed, just as concerned but more quiet, Van Helsing's distress increasing as they found nothing. Venturing into the crypts, even there they could see no indications the Count had returned. His box was where they had left it, the wafers firmly planted in the earth. "They must not have come here," he fretted. "He has taken her somewhere else. Where would he have taken her?"

"There is an old church outside town, an abandoned place with a crypt beneath it," Jonathan said, appearing at the top of the stairs and descending in a mad rush, his hair on end from having run his hands through it. "He might have gone there." He strode past them out the front door and the other men followed, praying he was right.

Van Helsing hesitated on the threshold and stared into the gloom, full of spider webs and ominous shadows. He felt they were missing something, but they had been through the entire house and tried every door, searched every room. Lucy was not there.

"Professor!" Jonathan cried urgently.

Shaking his head, the old man climbed back into the automobile and held his tongue as they careened out the narrow gates. Dirt spewed behind them as they drove at a furious pace down the ridge road, the sea unfurling beneath the mist as it lifted, revealing traces of dawn against the distant horizon. They roared through town and disturbed more than one person still abed enough to grumble and turn over. They passed a horse and cart heading in the opposite direction and reached the church beyond a copse of trees. Pebbles skidded beneath the tires as Jonathan slammed on the breaks and once more barreled toward the building, cursing the fact that he could not open the door to the crypt alone. The others lent a hand but even before they descended, the professor knew this was not the place. It was too untouched, the earth undisturbed, the dead long disintegrated. The church was a ruin, rotting beneath crumbling timbers and rampant leakage. Jonathan slammed his fist against the nearest crypt and cursed. Dr. Seward ran his hand over his bald head anxiously. Van Helsing had remained outside.

Returning to the surface, Jonathan said, "We have to find them."

"We will," the professor reassured him.

"Where the hell are they? Where would he have taken her?"

"Somewhere he feels certain they can escape undetected. Come, we will drive." Van Helsing indicated the idling car and reluctantly all returned to it, shaken by the experience.

The horse and cart pulled up to the side entrance at Carfax Abbey. Descending from the seat and patting his horses on his way past, Hensley stuck his pipe in his mouth and stared at the manor. "Side door behind the vines," he muttered, repeating the written instructions the Count had sent him. It was inconvenient but he was paid enough to not ask questions. He felt his way along the wall and discovered a wooden door hidden beneath the dead twigs and vines that crept up the side of the house. Forcing them aside, it opened into a dank lower room where a long box awaited him. He cursed under his breath when he discovered how heavy it was and began the difficult task of dragging it up the stairs. He was panting by the time it was hefted into the back of his cart and he folded down the canvas to hide it, removing his pipe from his lips and knocking out what remained of the tobacco against the side of the building. His mare was uneasy and he quieted her with gentle words, encouraging her to turn around and follow the winding road to Scarborough. It was a fair distance, a pleasant trip on a morning such as this, for it was still early and few individuals were about. He met no one until reaching the crossroad and there saw a familiar car parked as the occupants attempted to discern which direction to go.

Jonathan was at his wit's end and the doctor had no foresight of whether Dracula would attempt to leave by the harbor or travel to London. Van Helsing was quiet in the front seat, turning his head as the wagon approached. In the grayish morning light, the features of the driver could be made out and Seward was relieved to see a familiar face. "Tom Hensley, is that you?" he called out pleasantly, and the man drew up his mare.

"Yes, sir, it's me."

It was half past five in the morning and Jonathan found it strange that he should be out and about before the countryside stirred. "What are you doing out here at this hour?"

The horse stamped its foot. Van Helsing looked at it curiously and his eyes wandered to the canvas covering the wagon bed.

"I had to pick up another of them damn crates and take it to the dock at Scarborough before I could…"

Suddenly, the mare bolted and it was all the driver could do to stay on board. The jolt caused one of the canvas strips to tear free, revealing the contours of a familiar wooden crate. The doctor shouted and pointed and Jonathan said, "Scarborough!"

"The port!" said Van Helsing, relieved that at least now they had some indication of his intentions.

"Then he _is_ leaving England!"

Jonathan floored the gas almost before the doctor had time to squeak out, "After him!"

Wind rushed past their ears and tore at their scarves, the passengers hanging on for dear life as Jonathan maneuvered the car beside the wagon and shouted for the driver to pull over. Hensley was trying his best but the horse refused to listen. He planted his heels against the dash and pulled the reins as hard as he could. Dracula was aware of what was happening and reached out to the mare as he had done so many times, influencing her reactions and sending her careening toward the nearest rock. The wheel hit and the driver was hurled from the seat into the road. Jonathan swerved violently to avoid him and careened into a tree with a horrific crash. There was a horrible silence as all of them stumbled out, the doctor hastening to examine Hensley, but he saw when he turned him over that his neck was broken. Jonathan waved the smoke from the engine out of his way as he tried to discern if the car would start again.

"This thing mocks us, Abraham," the doctor said as they watched the driverless wagon continue down the road.

Van Helsing gripped his gloved hands into fists, feeling the anguish of knowing another daughter was to be lost to this monster. He refused to believe God would allow this to happen. "If we are beaten," he said with confidence, "then there is no God."

It was a reassurance they would not fail, in spite of tremendous adversity.

Resurfacing from behind the tree, Jonathan said, "The axle's cracked."

"Scarborough," responded Van Helsing, "how far is it?"

"It is ten miles!" the doctor cried out in agony, defeated. "It's no use!"

The professor would not allow them to give up. He had lost Mina; Dracula would not have Lucy as well. "Come on," he commanded, "we must try!" and set off walking. The other men exchanged wearied, doubtful glances and followed. They encountered a milk wagon not a mile down the road. It was crowded in the back but they were offered a ride and gladly accepted, praying they would make it on time. No one spoke and after awhile the friendly driver stopped asking questions. Silence fell, interrupted only by the sound of hooves on the packed dirt road. Jonathan was gritting his teeth, the doctor staring dismally into the distance, and Van Helsing lost in prayer. He had buried his wife and been forced to mutilate his daughter; he would not allow this creature to destroy another life as it had done his. It did not occur to him that Dracula was anything but a monster, for he had not seen what Lucy had experienced in him, his tenderness and affection, only his cold intuition and maliciousness.

Scarborough was down a hill and nestled against craggy cliffs. Milk cans jostled and lurched as they made their way down and the driver was thanked as the men hopped off near the docks. Frantic glances revealed the horse and wagon. Jonathan ran up and jerked open the canvas, pounding his fist on the wooden bed when he found it empty. "Where is it?"

Faces turned toward him with interest, even amusement at his frustration.

Van Helsing shouted down to a boatman tying up his line. "You sir, this wagon, did you see it arrive?"

The man glanced at it casually and asked, "Is that the one with the big crate on it?" He had indeed seen it come in, the horse walking tranquilly into town and drawing up before the dock as if it had been trained to deliver its cargo without assistance. There had been mild confusion over what was to be done, but the contents had been properly marked and someone had come to fetch it.

"Where is it?" the doctor demanded, speaking of the crate.

Indicating a ship floating in the distance, following the tide out into the channel, the boatman said, "Out there, aboard the _Czarina Catherina_, bound for Romania." He unraveled the rope, surprised when Jonathan pleaded with him to take them out after it.

"Please," Van Helsing pleaded, "we must catch that ship." He patted his pocket to indicate the boatman would be well reimbursed and the man agreed. Jonathan leapt into the small craft, forsaking his fear of the water out of sheer determination, and the doctor started to follow, but Van Helsing reached out to stop him. "You stay here, in case they are not on board. Keep well."

The doctor was reluctant but agreed, bidding them farewell and shading his eyes to gaze out across the water at the Romanian vessel. He did not know whether to hope or fear that his daughter was on board.


	21. Chapter 21

Superstition was written into Romanians from birth. It flowed from their lips as readily as evangelism from the throats of missionaries, influencing all their actions and commanding respect in the dark and sinister countryside. Few did not know the legends of vampires or were unfamiliar with rumors surrounding the Borgia Pass and its unholy occupants, and even fewer had not heard of the King of the Vampires. Romanians were quiet people, self-contained and disinterested in the traditions of the rest of the world. Most were devout and kept crosses near at hand. Their occasional travels from their portion of the world to such places as England were largely without ill-content, and if it were not for the recent loss of a familiar sailing vessel under sinister circumstances, the helmsman might not have taken notice of the small craft propelling at high speed through the water toward them. The tide was going out and their ship with it, the inhabitants cheerful at the thought of returning home to their wives and daughters. For some reason they were more eager than usual and had been since that morning, when the box had arrived. It was usual for them to crate property around and it had been placed in the hold as instructed without much curiosity. Carrying it down the narrow stairs, one of the men had nearly dropped it and a few loose bits of earth had dropped out, unseen and soon tracked among the piles of cargo below deck. Dusting off their hands and returning to their labors, the men could not understand why, but the approaching craft filled them with a sense of prevailing dread and uncertainty that only increased as it pulled up alongside and a wiry man shouted for them to put down a rope. None of them spoke English and were mystified when two figures appeared on deck.

"Dracula," panted Jonathan. "Where is he?"

Blank expressions met his eye, accompanied by the occasional shrug.

"Count Dracula," he persisted, "is he on this ship?"

The name was unfamiliar to them and all shook their heads. "_Nyet, nyet_," they repeated. Jonathan did not know how to respond, but fortunately his companion sensed something they would recognize and pressed, "_Nosferatu_!"

Comprehension dawned but no one responded until he added a string of Romanian and concluded urgently, "_Vampyre_!"

_This _was something they understood. Memories of gruesome stories told by grandmothers in the dead of night resurfaced and caused a few to cross themselves, others muttering uncertainly. Jonathan repeated the term several times and someone pointed to the hold. Crashing through the small doorway and stumbling into the gloom, he saw mounds of boxes, lanterns, crates, and other items towering in the small space. He was cautious as he entered, swift to examine each box and crate large enough to contain human cargo. Van Helsing remained behind momentarily to explain to the captain, who had descended from the hold to learn what the commotion was about, so Jonathan was alone. His heart beat loudly in his chest as he nervously passed through the narrow pathways. He caught sight of something that made his heart leap and he shouted, "Professor!" before realizing the danger and lowering his voice.

Nothing moved apart from the gentle sway of the floor and the occasional swinging of a lantern. Van Helsing hastened down the narrow stairs, one hand around a wooden stake fashioned from a shovel handle by the captain. The Romanian stood at the head of the stairs and did not enter, seeing no reason to be involved in affairs that did not concern him, a belief the rest of his crew shared. Van Helsing reached the foot and pressed one hand to his heart, wincing as pain shot through him. He had to last a little while longer, just long enough to see Lucy rescued from the monster. He followed Jonathan to the crate marked with Dracula's insignia and motioned for him to lift the lid. Jonathan took a few deep breaths and pried it open with a crowbar he had found. The lid flipped onto the floor but nothing arose to attack them from within. In fact, the screeching of the nails had not even awoken them.

It was an unnerving sight. Lucy lay curled beneath the Count's arm, her head resting against his broad chest. Dracula rested on his back, unmoving and unaware of their presence as they stood over him, reassured of their safety since their departure from England's shores. Both hesitated and Van Helsing motioned for him to remove the count's arm and take Lucy out of the coffin. Putting down the crowbar, Jonathan tentatively reached for the hand resting against her shoulder. It was cold to his touch but the Count did not move, allowing him to slide it off. This awakened Lucy, luring her from the wonderful darkness that had enveloped her in recent hours. Her eyes opened and terrified him, for they were red. She understood what he intended to do and snarled, digging her fingernails into the count's garments as Jonathan grabbed her and roughly pulled her up. Her protests did nothing to awaken her lover and he remained silent and still as she was dragged away from him. Jonathan knew her as a wild creature, snarling and clawing at him as he attempted to wrestle her to a safe distance. Lucy was furious with him for intruding, for daring to come after him, for threatening her, and her rage was so complete that she was briefly preoccupied but then out of the corner of her eye she saw Van Helsing place his stake over Dracula's heart. Her eyes widened and a scream of profound displeasure came out of her. The chilling, disheartening sound distracted Van Helsing and awakened Dracula. Once he slept, he was all but oblivious to the world, unaware of what transpired around him. He had refrained until they reached the ship, until he had heard the familiar romantic sounds of Romanian and felt the departure of the sailors from the hold. Lucy had slept already on their arrival, but he had waited until the ocean churned beneath them. Then he had closed his eyes and descended into nothingness, into the earth around him from which he drew strength.

Centuries before, his other brides had met an evil fate while he slept. He had not heard their screams as stakes were driven into their chests; their voices silenced forever as a blade decapitated them. It was an unpleasant, unsavory demise and his anger had been incredible when darkness had fallen and he had arisen to find their coffins filled with garlic flowers. He had known who was responsible, had known they would have attempted to kill him too if they had known his resting place, and had made them pay for it. But this time was different. Lucy's scream meant more to him than the others, for it resonated in his soul. His eyes sprang open and focused on the white-haired old man leaning over him. He felt the prick of the stake against his chest and heard Lucy struggling with Jonathan. Two slender hands arose and gripped the end of the crude weapon. Van Helsing's head snapped around and his eyes widened with dread. In one swift motion, Dracula knocked him aside, sending him crashing into the bags of grain piled against the far wall.

Jonathan continued to fight with Lucy as the Count rose majestically from his coffin. Van Helsing scrambled in his pocket for one of his holy relics and for an instant, their eyes met. In his was fear and resignation and in the Count's was absolute hatred as he brought the wooden stake forward and impaled his adversary on the end of it. _The Impaler_; the name the locals had given to him so many centuries ago when he had fought in the war, before he had found immortality. The force of the thrust and the motion drove the implement into the wall and pinned the professor there. Jonathan could not believe what had just happened. Trembling fingers drew his revolver and he attempted to fire but Lucy dragged his arm down and prevented the bullet from reaching its destination. Having had enough, he backhanded her with such violence that she went down in a heap. Dracula advanced on him and the gun fired a half dozen times. The bullets riddled the Count but failed to even cause him pain. Ominous shadows moved around them, the ship swaying with its forward motion as Jonathan flung the useless revolver aside and snatched at the nearest wall. His hand closed around a hook on a chain and he flung it in the vain hope it would strike his adversary, but with astounding reflexes the Count snatched it out of midair. Annoyance was spiraling through him, irritation that it had come to this and they could not let him be. That Lucy was dazed and helpless on the floor, that Van Helsing had not gone back to Holland as he was advised, and Jonathan was making such futile attempts against him. Genuinely angry, he flung the hook away from him and it impaled the wall inches from Van Helsing's head, barely stirring him as he lingered between life and death. Iridescent fabric fluttered in his wake as the Count moved forward, catching Jonathan by the throat and slamming him into the wall, his feet inches off the ground. Dracula closed his narrow fingers around the man's neck and slowly applied pressure, taking enjoyment in watching the color drain from his rival's face.

The professor was hardly aware of his surroundings, the pain so extreme he knew he would soon die. But out of the haze he could make out the blurred form of the Count as he threatened Jonathan. Weakness robbed him of most movement but he had enough strength left to reach out and pull the hook from the wall. Praying for a steady hand, he hurled it across the room and it impaled the vampire, entangling in his cloak. Dracula let out a scream of rage and threw Jonathan aside, turning his full attention to the grappling hook embedded in his back. Lucy stared at him in horror, her attention turning to Jonathan as he threw himself against the lever that retracted the hook. Before the Count could respond, the violence of the chain as it rushed upwards carried him with it, abandoning the hold and crashing through the overhead doors. Lucy rushed forward but Jonathan was stronger than she was as her source of power waned.

Sunlight flooded in on them, weakening her and illuminating the scars on Jonathan's face as he stared transfixed at the figure flailing wildly against the billowing white sails. Dracula could not release himself from the hook and was suspended over the deck, ignorant of the astounded Romanians below who observed with gaping mouths. Centuries had passed since he had last felt the warmth of the sun and where in his youth it might have awakened longing in him, now it was a torment to him, devastating and painful. He could feel it flooding through him, eating at the contours of his face and causing him to smoke, his skin disintegrating as the powerful rays seeped into his body. He fought to be free for as long as he could, before strength left him, he was resigned to his fate and nothing more than a peeling, tattered creature in the rigging. He could hear, faintly, Lucy screaming in the distance and she covered her face with her arms, as she could not bear to look. Jonathan slid to the floorboards as his legs gave out.

The transformation was unfamiliar and quiet, the departure of his influence from her veins. Lucy knew then he was dead, for she no longer felt his agony, and when she lowered her arms there was no movement from the mast other than the sight of his cape fluttering in the wind. Tears sparkled in her eyes as she looked toward the figure of Van Helsing, a trickle of blood seeping from his mouth. Jonathan could not even look at her, he was so ashamed. Lucy reached for his shoulder and he did not respond, nor could she forget his actions. Overwhelming sadness passed through her, as if something had been taken from her, something wonderful rather than monstrous, but she could not hope to make him understand. Her fingers fell and movement caught her attention. Dracula had come loose of the hook and was flying away, what remained of his body carried by the wind, the contours of his cape like a magnificent bat as he drifted out to sea.

It caused her to smile, concealing it from her dazed companion as he was relieved to have it at an end. It gave her hope, though she said nothing as harried feet brought the Romanians into the hold. Neither of them could speak the language and it was hard to explain, so she sat quietly in the background, Jonathan's coat around her shoulders as Jonathan pantomimed what had happened and Van Helsing was carefully lain out. It would not do for them to leave England and this did not please them, but the ship turned around and headed back to port, sailing against the tide. Jonathan did not speak to her and she avoided him, turning away whenever he chanced to look at her. She knew he thought of her as tainted. Jonathan was more old-fashioned than he cared to admit. He had seen her as a pure, holy thing meant to be his alone, and not knowing what she had shared with the Count drove him to distraction. He would pretend nothing was wrong, but he cared more than he wanted to admit.

Only when she saw her father's anxious face on the dock did Lucy felt anything apart from resentment. He was so concerned, eyes wide behind his round glasses, nervously sucking on the sweets that accompanied him everywhere that her heart softened. Relief came over him as she came down the gangplank and he ran forward to embrace her, thanking God she was safe. She seemed none the worse for her adventure apart from a bruise starting on her lower chin and weariness in her gaze. He demanded the details and Jonathan reassured him Dracula was dead. Standing at a short distance, Lucy pulled the jacket tighter around her shoulders and said nothing. Beaming, the doctor suddenly realized their number had decreased by one. "But where is Abraham?" he demanded.

Resting one hand on the older man's shoulder, Jonathan said, "I'm afraid he didn't make it. Dracula…"

Seward gripped Jonathan and contemplated his friend's death with great remorse.

Her voice was so quiet neither of them thought they had heard her right. "He was only defending himself."

"What did you say?" Jonathan looked fully at her for the first time and she did not like his expression. Her father was equally astounded, bewildered against the commotion of the dock. The Romanians were hauling out the vampire's crate of earth and seemed glad to get rid of it. They would soon carry out the professor's body on a covered stretcher. "Surely you cannot _justify_ what that monster did to you, or to Van Helsing!"

Tension laced through his tone and Lucy tightened her expression. "Van Helsing wanted to kill him, as you did. You threatened him before. He was going to leave England without harming either of you."

"He _kidnapped _you! He _drained the life out of you_! And now you are _defending _him?" Jonathan was on the verge of shouting, a vein in his forehead throbbing violently.

Dr. Seward stepped between them. "We're all tired; we've had a long night. Let's not discuss this now."

Each turned their back on the other. Jonathan, hands on his hips, paced off to sulk and Lucy waited with her father for his friend's body to be brought out. There was much reverence in the manner the sailors handled it, for they knew of his heroism and harkened him as a "saint" for his actions. It was difficult to look at them, to feel their eyes on her and know they knew how near immortality she had come. Equally hard was waiting for Swales to come and fetch them. Her father rang him from a nearby hotel and until he arrived she kept her distance from them. It was decided local authorities should not be involved and Swales brought the long cart so they might transport the body back to the asylum. There was a stony silence between her and Jonathan the entire way home.

"Thank God you have returned safely," cried Mrs. Galloway as she embraced her.

Lucy said nothing and indicated her desire to go to her room. No one attempted to stop her and she was relieved to abandon their curious glances. It was strange to stand in her room and remember all that had transpired there in the last few days. The scent of garlic turned her stomach and reminded her of the professor. It was not that she did not mourn him, for she had liked him in spite of his eccentricities. She knew she should have felt remorse and that the feelings coursing through her were inappropriate, but the Count had not controlled nor manipulated her. He had loved her and had died for her. He might have left England in peace but had chosen to return for her, to take her with him, knowing she would be much happier in his world than her own. It felt as if she had been offered much and then had it taken away from her by those who claimed to love her most. Jonathan would never forgive her. It would always lie between them, an unspoken doubt and accusation she did not want to bear, a grudge that would taint every moment of their lives. He would not want to marry her and she could not fathom it, could not envision intimacy with him, not since Dracula had made love to her. It was not something women talked of, but she _wanted _to talk about it, to remember it, to confess that she would never desire anyone else. She belonged to _him_, whether or not he was dead. And she didn't think he _was_ dead. She had _seen_ him die, but her heart refused to believe it. He was too old and kind, too mysterious and wonderful to have died.

There was a knock on the bedroom door and she turned as the housekeeper entered bearing a luncheon tray. "You haven't eaten in a long time," Mrs. Galloway said, motherly as ever. She was not to blame and Lucy held no ill will against her, expressing gratitude and concealing the fact that she felt no hunger, only deep unhappiness. Mrs. Galloway looked at her strangely and Lucy knew what she was thinking. _You seem different_.

She _was_ different, but pretended otherwise. On the orders of her father, Mrs. Galloway lingered until Lucy had eaten as much as she could. It was not a great deal, for her stomach was in upheaval and she knew it was because her body did not yet know whether it was mortal or immortal. But once a few of the sandwiches had been nibbled on and the tea drunk, the woman kissed her and took away the leftovers. It had been a tiring day and Lucy did not emerge from her room, even when dinner was announced. Her father and Jonathan shared an uneasy meal. The housekeeper went up to offer her something to eat and found her asleep, so no one disturbed her.

It was a night much like the first of his arrival; a storm brewed in the channel and caressed the coast, rain falling against the windows of her room and distant flashes of lightning illuminating the headstones in the cemetery past the garden. Lucy stirred in the midst of the deluge and looked to the window, feeling the intense pull of the tide and resisting its urges. The latch on her verandah clicked and one of the doors blew open; the gust of wind toppled her letter box off the mantle and its contents spilled across the room. One blew into her hand stamped with a London postmark. How she missed the city, from the theater to the constant rush and whirl of its streets, a teeming society of strangers where it would be easy to forget the past. It was less morose than Whitby with its ominous cliffs and crags, and would be a change of scene, different from her memories of this place, her sadness about Mina and the loss of her innocence. Lucy had not intended to move until the autumn but she needed to put distance between her and those who regarded her with suspicion. Even her father had regarded her doubtfully, wondering how much an advantage had been taken of her, and she could not abide that.

Arrangements had been made for her to room at a boardinghouse run by a woman by the name of Mrs. Leeway. She was terribly old-fashioned, so Lucy's father naturally approved of her. Men were not allowed in except in the parlor and never after nine o'clock in the evening. Her ladies were to be neat, quiet, and return at reasonable hours. She housed them in a decent district with pleasant surroundings and served meals promptly on time. Lucy had devised months ago how to smuggle in Jonathan whenever she pleased but now saw the strict rules of the house as convenient. She would wait a few weeks and then depart, enough time for her father to be certain she was all right and for Jonathan to have left for his law firm, as there was no reason to prolong his stay.

It comforted her to have a plan and as she locked the verandah, Lucy hoped to put all this behind her.


	22. Chapter 22

Newcomers were few and far between in the small Irish community nestled against the coast. Every now and again a relation would come to visit a family in the district, but for the most part the town was secluded, a dismal crop of buildings against towering cliffs. It was beautiful and locals took it for granted, busying themselves in the lives of their neighbors when not out tending the fields. It was midwinter and the rains had begun, accosting them with downpours that kept the hills green even this late in the season and put a skip into the step of the children who ran ahead of their relatives in the direction of home. The eldest of the brood shouted for the others to be careful along the shoals. There was a response from the boys and then silence. When she came over the crest of the hill, she saw them standing around something in curiosity and they parted to let her through. It was the tattered remains of a once fine black cloak. The fabric was so rich and filmy in her hand that she envied its owner and wondered how it had come to such harm. Wind and sea had buffeted it but there was enough left for it to billow out behind her sister as she took it and ran home. It was a marvel and much remarked on, all wondering whether it had blown in from the coast. It seemed too heavy a thing to find its way to the top of the cliffs on its own but there was no explanation for its presence, as there had not been a stranger in town for months. It would have been simple enough to salvage pieces of it for other garments but for a reason she could not explain, Catherine could not bear the idea of cutting into it. She rolled it up and placed it on the shelf above her bed in the narrow room she shared with her sisters. It was there each morning when she arose to milk the cows and at night when she closed her eyes.

Bats were uncommon in the district but she found one in the mud behind the stable, too weak to more than omit a faint squeak as she approached. Bats were unclean creatures and her father had warned her many times never to touch them. But this one seemed so sad, with its shredded wings and weakened appearance that she could not bear to leave it there. Glancing up at the cottage and finding no one in sight for the dreary drizzle, Catherine wrapped it in her apron and darted out to the pig shed. Powerless but not frightened, the bat did not struggle as she unfolded the apron to look at it. "What has happened to you, poor thing?"

Whether it was very old or very young she could not tell, only that it was barely alive and its dark eyes observed her weakly. Compassion had been instilled in her from birth and she could not leave it there, much less kill it as her father would have done. "If there's nothing to be done for a creature, it's crueler to prolong its agony than let it die," he had once told her. Catherine could not bear killing things. She could not even bear eating rabbit stew. Glancing up at the main house, where she knew her absence would not be immediately noticed, she considered what to do. The caves where she went to think were not far along the coast. None of the other children knew of them, or many of the villagers, and she decided that was where she would take him. Shielding him from the rain as she lowered her hood and darted along the path, she ducked into the cool interior. It would keep him warm and safe until she could figure out how to nurse him. It was difficult to leave him there with broken wings, so much so that she nearly turned and went back, but gritted her teeth and returned to the house, offering no explanations for why it had taken her so long to shut in the chickens or where she had lost her apron. It rained and she tossed and turned in bed, wondering if come morning she would find him dead.

When dawn appeared, she slipped out before the others awoke to check on him. Sliding in the mud and pausing at the mouth of the cave, she ventured inside. There was a feeble flutter at her approach and she felt he recognized her. He was no worse than before but certainly no better and she sat down beside him, rubbing nervous hands on her skirt before drawing him into her lap. Animals in pain were dangerous but this one seemed docile enough as she mended its broken wing. She did not know what to feed him and left him all manner of things. It was dried out when she came back, for it was a frequent habit of hers to check on him. Catherine could not be certain but she felt he waited for her, even looked forward to seeing her, for after a few days he started squeaking whenever he saw her. He grew stronger but was always there when she came and she could not figure out how he survived. His wings were in tatters but the left one was healing thanks to a little wooden splint and soon she was able to take it off. No one noticed how much time she spent away from home, for there were eight children running around and greater concerns in the minds of her parents. The youngest had taken to sleepwalking. On more than one occasion they arose to find her asleep in the front room, her chubby cheeks flushed with contentment and a thumb in her mouth. It did no harm but nevertheless disconcerted everyone. Giving her a bath one afternoon, Catherine had noticed two red dots on her sister's neck. They were small and close together. Concerned for the child's well-being, she had searched the rafters of the house and killed the spiders she found there.

A week passed without incident and then she chanced to spend a restless night. Grandmother had once told her it was best to sleep with the window ajar in winter or summer and the coolness of the sea breeze was toying with her thoughts. She was half-asleep with her finger curling in her hair when she sensed movement at the foot of the bed. Lifting her head, she saw the reddish waves of her little sister as she vanished into the corridor. Drawing her shawl off the nearest chair, Catherine wound it around her shoulders and followed.

The child passed her parents' closed door and went down the stairs. She walked in a straight line across the front room and opened the door. Night air swirled in and Catherine was too sleepy to respond, half-wondering if she were having a dream. She stepped into the farmyard and saw a ripple of fabric as the child went along the path to the hillside. Wrapping the cloak more tightly around her, Catherine followed and was surprised to round a bend and find her sister sitting on the ground. Something fluttered away in the moonlight at her approach and shivering, Catherine wondered what gave her such uncertainty. The girl was so still and quiet that for a moment she did not move but then turned to observe with enormous eyes. She was too young to offer an explanation and Catherine did not press her for one, merely picked her up and carried her back to the house. Such behavior was considered a bad omen and no one was told, but in spite of this secret, there was an eerie mood over the community, for several people had experienced unusual encounters. One young man confessed to having seen a wolf on the cliffs in the moonlight, though there were none in this part of the country. The local priest was so ill at ease that he preached a frightful sermon on the dangers of the devil walking among them.

Several months passed and she thought nothing of her unusual pet's survival, in spite of the fact that he never ate anything she offered him. He was a beautiful bat. Once, she had found them fierce and intimidating but he was gentle and sweet. She told him things and he appeared to listen as he crawled around the ceiling overhead, his sharp claws digging into the ridges in the worn stone. Soon, he would be strong enough to leave. She felt a blend of sadness and triumph in that realization, knowing she had nursed him back to health, but there would be sorrow in the emptiness of her cavern. It wore on her whenever she left him, for she knew one day she would find him gone.

It had been a particularly trying afternoon. Her siblings had bickered throughout their studies to such an extent that Catherine had lost her temper. She did not know why all of them were in such ill humor and it was a relief to escape after supper and go for a walk. It was unusual for her to visit the caves in the evening but she was drawn there. Uncertainty passed over her as she stood on the narrow ledge and stared into the gloom. It should not have intimidated her but it did. Dismissing her concerns, she ducked her head and entered, crouching until she could stand up in the small space. Just enough light entered behind her to make out the place where the bat usually hung. He was gone. Even though she had known this moment would come, sadness overcame her and she searched the cavern for him, straining to see movement in the darkness and calling to him, but he did not respond. She slumped against the near wall and sank to the ground, fighting back tears. It was such a silly thing to cry over, certainly not worth the effort, but still she could not stop them from flowing freely.

His presence should have frightened her but it didn't. His hand descended on her shoulder and she wiped at her nose with the back of her hand, glancing up at him in the gloom. Though he seemed very old, almost ancient, his skin weathered and ravaged by time, there was a handsome quality to him and a kindness in his dark, penetrating eyes. His hair was white, framing his narrow features rather wildly.

"It is a silly thing to be sad about," she said.

"Not at all," he countered in a wonderful voice that caused a tremor of pleasure to ripple through her; it was a deep, sensual voice. "Your kindness allowed him to live. You took good care of him, but now he must return to his mate." His hand stroked the side of her face and she felt comforted. She had not thought of that. For the first time, she looked up and met his gaze. There was something familiar about him, something exciting and wonderful that filled her with a strange emotion. He assisted her out of the cavern into the dusk. In the distance was the ship that would carry him to England. He had lingered to bid her farewell. Her kindness had touched him, a feat few humans ever accomplished. He left footprints in the damp earth of the path as they walked together at the top of the cliffs, his cape fluttering around him as he left her at the crest of the hill. "I must go," he said.

"Must you?" she asked, meaning in her eyes. She did not want him to leave; she wanted him to stay. Like so many before her, once having seen him she could not fathom his absence.

Smiling, he touched the side of her face again and nodded. Voices traveled to them in the wind and she turned to see her sisters in the distance, coming to fetch her. He was gone when she looked around again and she could not see him in any direction. There was only the mist seeping through the rocks at the edge of the cliff. Filled with a familiar sorrow, she was silent as her sisters reached her side.

"Who was that?" one of them asked, nursing the stitch in her side.

Her sister shrugged and said, "No one." Catherine put her arms around them and accompanied them home. It was not until she went to bed that she discovered the cloak was missing and the window unlatched. Somehow, its loss seemed unimportant.

The cloak provided warmth as he stepped onto the deck of the ship, traveling in human form. He was still weak but the blood of locals had sustained him. It would take Transylvanian earth to put him to rights and he had several boxes of it in London, for he had intended to go there after vacating Carfax. Jonathan had succeeded in injuring but not destroying him, for it took more than sunlight to dispatch an eternal soul. He had almost died in the early days, before the girl had found him. She was the kindest of the children and the one who answered his weak cry for help. Her tenderness was profound and he wondered if she had known the truth if she would have smashed his fragile form with the nearest rock. She had nearly caught him that night when she had ventured out after her sister, but her memories would soon fade, the incident nothing more than a distant whisper of the past.

"Sir, this way, if you please," said the first mate and showed him down a narrow passage to his room. It was small and bare, what a meager amount of funds could afford, for he would have to maintain a modest appearance until regaining his financial assets and securities. He looked in contempt at the narrow bed and said it was fine. It would not take them more than a few days to reach London, far less than his journey from Transylvania. He would have to stay human until then. He did not entirely mind, for humans amused, entertained, and provided him with information. The crew was eager to do so, once overcoming their surprise at his appearance, for he was quite ill. It would take an immense amount of soil, months of sleep, and regular intake of blood to restore him to his former self, something Jonathan Harker would eventually have to pay for. Dracula was only slightly more interested in finding Lucy than he was keen on making his rival suffer.

The sailing was uneventful but he noticed one of the crewmen watching him with suspicion when it came time to retire. Dracula met his gaze unwaveringly and returned to his cabin, stretching out on the narrow cot and resting his hands over his heart. It was uncomfortable and unpleasant but he did not move as the hours stretched past. It was fortunate that they docked under a heavy fog and the skies above were dour and gray or he might have had to find his way in daylight. No one paid him much mind as he descended the gangplank, finding the docks deserted. He was without luggage and stayed to the shadows in spite of the gloom. Walking along the banks of the Thames, a foul, filthy river running through the heart of London, he passed into cobblestoned arches and paused as he heard movement in the darkness behind him. Dracula did not turn his head but slowed his pace, knowing from the man's scent that it was the crewman from the sailing vessel. He was not alone, for another pair of footsteps joined him.

Mortals had such base desires, concerned with unimportant matters such as wealth. They were after his purse, sensing from his mannerisms and commanding presence that he was more of a gentleman than he let on. Dracula's slender fingers curved around the edges of his cloak and his pace quickened before he turned to face them. One had come up behind him and was startled at the acknowledgement, the other emerging from the shadows. "May I help you, gentlemen?" he asked in a polite tone of voice, his European accent no more than a soft whisper.

"You can give us your purse," the crewman said, extending his work-worn hand.

Dracula studied it with disinterest, finding it rough and calloused from a hard life at sea. His dark eyes lifted to find the man watching him, confident that his request would not be denied. His companion drew nearer and patted his pocket, indicating the presence of a weapon. Dracula wondered if it were a knife or a revolver as he put his hand into his cloak and drew out the purse they sought. It contained a few English pounds, hardly worth their lives, but their eyes were greedy as he extended it, holding it just above the open palm as he said, "Are you certain this is what you want?"

"Give it here and stop fussing," growled the man at his side, but the crewman was looking at him strangely. He was more perceptive than his companion and a flicker of concern passed over his features as he stared into the Count's eyes. Dracula could not conceal them, intense and murderous, the light catching their tremor and glinting.

"Joe," said the crewman, withdrawing his hand. "I think we should clear off." He stepped back slightly, but his friend was not about to leave an opportunity for wealth behind. He snatched the purse and Dracula allowed him to have it. His companion continued to back away, warning his friend to leave, but Joe did not listen.

"What else have you about your person?" he asked, advancing. "Do you have a pocket watch?"

Grubby fingers fumbled about the Count's waistcoat and Dracula turned his attention to the man backing away.

He smiled.

The crewman turned and fled into the darkness. Joe had no warning and rapidly was slammed into the nearest stone wall, the breath knocked out of him as he stared in terror at the ominous face before him.

Dracula snarled and his teeth glinted in the feeble light. "Whitechapel," he said; "in which direction does it lie?"

"W-west," stammered Joe, hardly able to believe what he was seeing. He was a sailor, a man of the sea, prone to superstition but even in his most dreadful nightmares had never encountered anything as frightening as the thing that held him captive. He pleaded for his life but the Count was not interested. The incoherent babblings of mortals did not interest him. Rather than listen, he tightened his fingers. There was an audible snap. The body slumped to the ground and Dracula recovered his purse. Leaving him there to be found, he stepped over the prone form and continued west, his cloak fluttering behind him. He remembered the maps of London Jonathan Harker had sent him, an intimate guide to the available estates within the city. Jonathan had been disappointed not to sell him a house there as well, but Dracula had chosen a different solicitor for that purpose. Harker did not know of his second property, or the crates he had sent in advance and paid to have delivered to the grounds. He remembered the maps well enough to gauge his distance and emerged from the sewers not far from the manor. It stood on the outskirts of Whitechapel, a rambling ruin that reminded him of home surrounded by a tall stone fence and near an endless mire of crypts and stone monuments at the back of an abandoned church. The wrought iron gates were ominous, allowing him to peer in at a desolate sight.

"Abandoned old place, that is," said a voice from the fog, and he turned to find a young woman leaning against the nearest lamp-post. In spite of the cold she was bare-armed and her garments showed off her figure well, for she was accustomed to drawing attention in this part of town. A spatter of freckles frosted her nose and matched the unusual color of her hair.

"Is it?" He was curious about her, about any young woman forced into the street. She was far too beautiful for such a life, and he could already see the toll it had taken on her in the sadness of her eyes.

Pushing away from the post and coming toward him, she nodded. "It's been empty since the last owner died. Mysterious circumstances, they were. Someone said it was bought months ago but no one ever came to live in it. They just sent in a few boxes of dirt."

He need not ask how she knew this, for it would have been unusual in this part of town if his property hadn't been broken into in the hope of finding valuables. Dirt disinterested them so they had left it. He held out his hand and she came to him, glancing over her shoulder as he unlocked the gate and stepped through it. She was not intimidated by him or their morbid surroundings as she followed him across the expanse of overgrown garden into the house. It smelled of damp and dust coated the white sheets covering the furniture. He loosened his cloak, flinging it onto the window seat. He was older than most of her clients but she did not complain. His hand caressed her throat and traveled to the base of her head, drawing her toward him. Gentle lips touched her skin and she was surprised at her reaction, for the sensation it caused was erotic as it traveled through her. Dracula felt her relax and bit into her, the warmth of her blood flowing across his tongue. It had been so long since he had tasted more than the weakness of a child and he felt his strength returning, flowing through him and removing years from his appearance. Darkness returned to his hair and youth to his features, not as much as he would have liked but enough to make a difference. When he drew back he was younger, his face altered apart from the intensity of his gaze. She had not noticed until then how handsome he was and reached out to touch him, still in his embrace.

"What are you?" she whispered, a drop of blood lingering on her throat.

He kissed it away and she forgot her question. Her mind was in a haze as he let her out the side door and walked her to the gate. Before she stepped out into the street and the grayness of a rainy dawn, he caught her arm. "Come again, won't you?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, filled with an overwhelming desire never to leave. "Yes, yes, of course."

He smiled at her and latched the gate before he turned and vanished into the manor. The young woman closed her hand around the nearest slat and stared after him, feeling strangely disappointed at his departure. He had taken enough but not too much and she experienced nothing unusual in his absence. Memories of their exchange evaporated with the faint sound of a milk cart jostling down the street and she wondered why she was standing there at all. Glancing up at the house and experiencing a twinge of unusual desire, she wrapped her shawl closely about her and retreated toward home.


	23. Chapter 23

Life at Mrs. Leeway's was far different from what Lucy was accustomed to in Whitby, where her tolerant father had never attempted to correct or discipline her. The liberties of her former life were forgotten beneath the rigidity of her landlady, who was far less tolerant of misbehavior than Mrs. Galloway. She had known it would not be the same when the woman had insisted she remain downstairs while Jonathan carried her luggage up to her room. He had not been gone more than three minutes but still she wore a look of disapproval when he reappeared. "I don't think she likes me much," he mentioned to Lucy as she walked him out to his car.

"I don't think she likes men in general," she returned with a faint smirk.

Affairs between them had not been mended in the two months since her "rescue" from the Count but they were making attempts to be sociable to one another. Jonathan never spoke of it, although she knew he thought of it each time he looked at her. It was inevitable; a change had come over her that none of them could explain. There was an otherworldly air to her mannerisms, in the quietness of her voice and gentleness of her hands. It unnerved him more than he cared to admit, for it reminded him of the Count.

He slammed the trunk of his automobile and glanced at the windows of the boardinghouse, where several female faces peered out, watching them with interest. He could not have kissed her farewell even if he'd intended to. He looked at her and wanted to speak, but held his tongue and stepped into the car. Lucy watched him drive off without a shred of emotion, then turned and went inside. Life there was dismal, for she was accustomed to having her own way and Mrs. Leeway disapproved of all her habits. She never said as much but confided a great deal in errant sniffs and arched brows.

In spite of this, Lucy liked London as well as she had in her younger years. There was no one to moderate her and she went into society on a regular basis. Jonathan continued to see her in spite of the awkwardness between them, introducing her to the partners who ran his firm and making conversation. Eager to begin her studies in the autumn, she made good use of the university library and gathered the attention of all the men in residence, for it was uncommon for a woman to research the law. Their fascination and encouragement emboldened her and she liked their flirtations and invitations to dinner. Most were polite and a few rather forward but all were prevented from accompanying her home for more reasons than her intolerant and prying landlady. Lucy enjoyed their company over dinner or at the theater but whenever any of them hinted they might like more, she would shut them out. It did not diminish her popularity and only infrequently did she spend evenings at the boardinghouse. The other ladies were curious about her and attempted to make friends. Most of them either attended local colleges or were employed. Lucy liked all of them but none so well as Mina. Her loss brought an element of sadness to Lucy's life that was continually profound, but it was the Count who haunted her dreams. Sometimes she would sense his presence and awaken to an empty room and the movement of curtains against the windows. At others she would catch sight of a man in the crowd and strain her neck only to be disappointed. Jonathan had killed him. She had watched it happen but still lived in disbelief. She could not forget him, the strength of his embrace, the passion of his lips, the promises he had made her in the night. Often she would stir and find herself staring into nothingness, a word or the touch of a hand arousing her from her thoughts; she would blush and apologize for being so careless and her friends would look at her strangely. It was a sort of madness that prevailed; as spring drifted into summer she could not escape him. She wanted to see him so desperately that on occasion she was convinced she _had _seen him at the opera or in the street. Food no longer interested her and she became pale, answering her father's letters with determination but refraining from addressing the nature of her thoughts, filling their correspondence with the amusements of her companions and the banality of her studies. She continued to go out with her gentlemen friends, always returning at an appropriate hour, to the approval of her housekeeper.

When school started, she started her education in earnest. Lucy was accustomed to the curious glances of her peers and disbelief of the professors, but there was nothing in the school guidelines to forbid her presence and as she had aced her entrance examination without difficulty, the board could not deny her admittance. There were a few who disapproved of her and went out of their way to indicate she was not wanted, but most were pleased at her progress, for she had a keen mind and natural intuition. The law was a formidable and daunting undertaking that she tackled with enthusiasm, color returning to her features as she relished the complicated work. Jonathan could not help but be pleased, for he had assisted her in learning much of what went into her early examinations. Her hours were filled with study but now and again she went out with her friends. It was on one such occasion that she experienced a fleeting sensation of awareness. The hair on the back of her neck lifted and she turned to stare into the street. She could not explain the emotion that came over her of intense yearning.

"Lucy, are you coming?" asked one of her friends and she ran to catch up but could not be rid of the unusual feeling. It soon faded into the rush of first exams and she was weary when they were completed. She felt she had done well and did not argue when Jonathan proposed an evening at the opera to celebrate. Donning a new gown, Lucy was ravishing as she sat in her box with the others and listened to the exquisite Italian music. Her attention wandered from the stage and swept across the crowd, head turning along with her delicate opera glasses as she was amused by the range of expressions. Some of the women sat forward intently, their fans moving in rapid succession as the music flooded into them, arousing their emotions. Here and there, a man lifted a white glove to conceal a massive yawn or glanced surreptitiously at his pocket watch.

Jonathan nudged her with his elbow and she glanced at him, finding he was indicating a box across from them. Lucy returned the glasses to her eyes and smirked as she saw a young couple passionately kissing in the shadows. They exchanged amused glances and she returned her attention to the stage, but not before something caught her attention. For an instance she thought to have seen someone familiar, but when she looked again he was gone. How strange that she would make it a man and though she would not admit it even to herself she had wondered if it was _him._ It was foolish to continue thinking about him, wondering if she would see him again, yet the only face she sought in the crowd belonged to him. Her mood was unnerved for the rest of the performance and she allowed Jonathan to walk her home. "I suppose we must part here," he said ruefully at the corner, glancing at the formidable house where her contemptible housekeeper resided.

Her smile assured him it was so and for a moment they looked at one another, her amusement fading at the expression behind his eyes. "Lucy, how can you stand it?" he whispered. "How can we go on like this? Pretending as if everything is all right when it isn't? You look at me and all you see is him and what I have done. I did it for _you_. I wanted to save _you_." His hands closed about her upper arms with strength and for once she did not pull away. "He was a monster, a vampire, and he would have done to you what he did to Mina if it were not for the professor."

"What happened to Mina was less his fault than the professor's, for it was he who killed her!" Lucy remembered well the sight of them mutilating her body in the cemetery, of Jonathan retching in the distance as Van Helsing quietly cut out her heart and stuffed her mouth with garlic flowers.

Frustrated, Jonathan released her and turned away, running a hand through his unruly dark hair before he said, "The professor did what was needed. It was Dracula who murdered her, who took her innocence and sweetness and transformed her into a hideous monster! Your father told me what she was like in the mines the night you were with _him_." He spat out the word as if it were vile and regretted it, for he had revealed his true feelings openly for the first time.

Darkened houses surrounded them, the lamp overhead casting eerie shadows along the long street. Lucy met his gaze without remorse. "I do see him when I look at you, Jonathan," she said coldly, "but no more than you see him when you look at me. After you killed him on that ship, you would not even meet my eyes. You pretend you did it out of love, out of kindness, but it was jealousy and resentment! If you had loved me then you would love me still, but now that you know I have been _tainted_ by him, you hate me! You hated him the moment you saw him, when I asked him to dance in the drawing room. For heaven's sake, you asked me to go away with you merely to separate us after Mina's _funeral_!"

"Well, it's not as if I were wrong," he said hotly. "Five hours later he seduced you! I drove all the way to London feeling like an utter bastard; meanwhile you were doing God-knows-what in his castle!" Flushed, he concluded his accusation on an irate note and Lucy glared at him. Silence resounded between them. Turning away from her and walking a short distance, then coming back, he said, "Damn it, Lucy. Is it to always be like this between us?"

For months they had resented one another, regretted all that had transpired between them, and allowed the incident to chip at their resolve. There was no use pretending any longer. He was shaking as he raked his fingers through his hair, giving him an unruly appearance. Lucy almost smiled at it, but there was more anger in her then sadness. "Goodnight, Jonathan," she said. He did not try and stop her as she crossed the street to enter the house. Mrs. Leeway stood on the threshold and said nothing as her tenant passed, ascending the stairs and going into her room. There was very little light, only what trickled in through the open window from the street, and Lucy threw down her opera glasses with such violence they broke. Dropping against the bedroom door and placing her hands over her face, she drew in a ragged breath.

From the gloom came a voice, so familiar it stopped her heart even as it caressed her ears. "Oh, it cannot be as bad as that."

The world seemed to pause as she listened with all her might, not daring to hope and wondering if it was a dream. But no, his slender form approached out of the shadows, the contours of his handsome features melting out of the gloom. She drew in her breath and stared at him, unable to believe it before she fell into his arms. Dracula found her as soft and warm as he remembered, her scent intoxicating as she drew back to look at him and touched his face, astounded that it was as she remembered, without fault or injury. "Is it truly you?" she whispered. "But you were… I saw what happened…"

Her words faded as his mouth closed over hers, drawing her against him as he kissed her passionately, months of desire expressed in this caress. She could hardly breathe as his lips strayed across her face, his hands resting on her shoulders and sliding her coat free. Tears slipped from her eyes and he tasted them on her skin, knowing by the tremor in her that she was overcome by his presence, that he was alive. For months he had sensed her loneliness and sorrow, listening to the faint beat of her heart in the distance, knowing he could not go to her, not yet, not until she was rid of Jonathan and he had returned to his full strength. It had been a hellish separation prolonged through infrequent glimpses of her. Once, he had even gone to the house in the evening and met her housekeeper, who had warmed to him and answered some of his questions. Lucy had been out. He had known that, planned it that way, for he wanted to acquaint himself with her companions before venturing into her world. Pins slipped loose from her hair and it unfurled in burnished tendrils around her face as he gazed down at her.

"I will always come for you," he said.

Lucy nodded and sank onto the edge of the bed, her legs no longer able to hold her up. "Where were you? What happened to you? Tell me everything!" She reached out a plaintive hand and his fingers slid into it as he sat down beside her, as graceful and immaculate as she remembered. Her face was flushed from her argument with Jonathan and the excitement of the theatre; it made her seem vulnerable as his eyes searched hers, an inexplicable emotion of protectiveness settling into him at her nearness. For months he had thought of nothing else, yearned for nothing but her presence, her touch, to hold her in his arms and now that she was so close he could not fathom her existence. "I thought you were dead," she said tremulously, and he knew then how much she had suffered, what torment he had put her through, how much that morning on board ship had cost them. Human emotions were frail things, so weak and tremulous, and she clung to him as if afraid he would disappear.

"More than sunlight would be needed to deter me from my purpose," he said in his wonderful voice, so soft and seductive it evaporated all her fears. The thoughts swirling through her head were inappropriate and romantic, for he seemed to overpower all around them and cast the rest of the world into nothingness. "Will you come away with me, to my home, to _your _home, in Transylvania? Will you be my wife for all eternity?" His face hovered near hers and he sensed the quickening of her heart, the warmth that accompanied this immortal invitation. Everything in her desired to say yes, to turn her back on London and vanish, but it would take time. There was her father to consider. She was not as blinded by affection as she had been in earlier months, when it had been a frantic escape. Dracula had been in danger and she had gone with him willingly, but now no one knew about his presence. He was a secret, _her _secret.

"Yes," she whispered, shaking with fear, "yes, but not now. We must wait. We must arrange it so they never suspect the truth." Her fingers came to rest against his waistcoat and she rested her head against his, feeling his disappointment, but he knew it was true. Her disappearance in London would be met with suspicion and panic by those who knew her. There would be too many questions, an investigation… her father would be summoned from the country, and Jonathan would resurface full of righteous indignation. No, she was right, they must be cautious. Normally, he was careful in these matters, considerate of the potential outcome, but his affection for her had briefly blinded him to the consequences. He wanted nothing more than to carry her off into the darkness, to board a ship for Romania and put England behind them forever. But there would have to be arrangements. It would take time, months perhaps, but then no one would come after them.

Footsteps passed in the hall, accompanied by feminine voices; her roommates, returning home from work or an evening out, a succession of shutting doors as goodnights were said. The pace of her heart slowed and contentment returned, for now she knew he was truly there and not a figment of her imagination. Dracula pressed a kiss to her forehead and allowed her to rest against his chest as he stared into the darkness. "Something must be done about Jonathan Harker," he said, and there was such malice in his voice that she drew back to look at him.

"Jonathan does not deserve to die, even for what he has done. Promise me you will not kill him." It frightened her how dangerous he looked in that instant, even fierce, an expression she had never seen on him before. There must have been some humanity left in him to have loved her so much and she relied on it to soften his anger. "We will contrive something, send him away into the country for a few months, but please, it will only arouse suspicion if…" Her voice caught in her throat and she realized she could not bear Jonathan's death. Though his disregard for her saddened her, she did not wish him ill for it.

There was nothing Dracula wanted more than to torment Jonathan Harker, to offer him as much suffering and agony as he had experienced in those painful moments in the light, but for her sake he revealed no contempt. "He will be sent away," he consoled her, his hand at the nape of her neck, resting against the paleness of her skin, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Much needed to be done. There were plans and arrangements to make and it pleased him how well Lucy undertook them, how intelligent she was, how cunning when it came down to it. Enthusiasm abounded from her as she considered how best to set them adrift. The weariness of the evening faded and it was with reluctance that she observed the coming dawn, for he must soon depart. "You will come again?" she asked softly, her head resting on the pillow, drowsy as sleep threatened to descend.

Dracula lay beside her, supporting his head on one hand as he gazed at her. "Soon," he vowed.

She smiled and closed her eyes, the room filled with the sound of her even breathing. His departure did not awaken her and when morning came there was no indication of his presence apart from an open window. The girls remarked on how well she looked over breakfast and she knew they would never suspect the truth. It was much too dangerous for him to spend each night with her but he came often, allowing them to devise plans which were then set into motion. It was not difficult to gain influence in London society and Dracula had no trouble becoming well-known among the upper class. He was handsome and charming, the perfect gentleman, a husband many of the fathers would gladly have arranged for their daughters. Among them was an influential Lord Darling, who for some time had been considering the purchase of an estate in the north.

"I understand the property you are interested in is now for sale," Dracula remarked at the club over brandy and cigars. It amused him how much mortals attempted to shorten their lives with such vices, but the smoke did not bother him, heavy as it was in the billiard room. He sat perfectly still in his corner chair, observing in the manner that put companions ill at ease. His perfect state of calm and mild voice did not disturb the plump older man seated across from him who was enjoying an evening at leisure after a long day at the office. How he had come to meet the Count he could not remember, only that it felt like he had always been there. He had been around to dinner and charmed the wife and daughters, but Lord Darling much preferred him at the club. They were left alone whenever Dracula was in attendance and it gave him pleasure to know his social circle was so highly regarded.

"Yes, and at a damn good price, too; if only I had a good solicitor." He motioned to the nearest footman and the young man set off to fetch a whiskey from the sideboard.

The Count knew he could not linger much longer, for he had another appointment with an appreciative young woman who fancied a dalliance but who would supply him with nourishment. He had an impeccable sense of time but nevertheless glanced casually at the grandfather clock on the far wall, watching the hands move toward the stroke of midnight. He never ate or drank or even pretended to but no one questioned it, assuming it was one of his Romanian eccentricities. Carelessly, he answered, "You should consider Snodgrass, Shilling and Wallop. One of their solicitors arranged for the purchase of my estate in the south at considerable financial gain… Jonathan Harker." There was a hint of a smile on his lips as he said it which his companion could not fully understand but that offered reassurance. "You must not mention me by name, of course. I prefer to keep such acquaintances at a distance, less they take me for granted."

Lord Darling was eager to emulate the poise and mannerisms of his newfound friend and wasted no time in contacting the attorney's office and asking particularly for Mr. Harker, who was flattered and wondered which of his wealthy clients had recommended him. It was not normally an undertaking he would have gone after with enthusiasm, because it required traveling into the north for at least a week, but the euphoria of being requested and his recent quarrel with Lucy made him more amiable. He considered informing her in person but chose to send a note instead, a polite but harried indication that he would be out of London for "a few days on business."

It was delivered to Mrs. Leeway's establishment and rested on the side table, on top of the rest of the post when she went to answer the door early that evening. Lucy had not returned, indicating she intended to spend more than her usual amount of time studying in the university library. It was not customary for them to have visitors at this hour but the older woman's annoyance faded when she opened the door to find the Count awaiting admittance. "You must forgive the lateness of the hour, Mrs. Leeway," he said in an apologetic tone, melting out of the darkness and entering without invitation or resistance, "but I bear important news for Miss Seward. Is she in?"

"I'm afraid not, but you are welcome to wait." The woman indicated the parlor and he passed into it. The flutter of his cape touched the edge of the side table and Jonathan's correspondence vanished from it, whisked away out of sight and mind without her noticing its sudden absence. She was a small woman, slender and befitted with a once-beautiful face. Noticing that he paused to glance at the headline of the local newspaper one of her girls had left out, she remarked, "It's a dreadful thing, those murders in the east end, isn't it? Most of them were under mysterious circumstances. I do not encourage my tenants to indulge in such things but cannot halt their curiosity."

"Our nature is inclined toward morbidity, and murder fascinates us in spite of our reservations." Dracula had come this evening not to see Lucy but to settle his presence in the house. Even now his influence carried through the surrounding rooms, quieting the temperaments of the ladies and producing a magnificent effect on their stoic housekeeper, for her features softened from sternness into fondness as she came to sit with him. The room was cold and he offered to light the fire, aware of her watching him throughout this procedure; it soon blazed beneath his fingertips and he withdrew his hands, sitting back on the divan. Turning his attention to her, he said, "Miss Seward's mother died when she was very young. I wonder if you have taken her place."

"In her mind or my own?" the older woman asked cunningly.

His dark eyes were mesmerizing in the gloom, the softness of the lamps caressing the contours of his face. "Both, for she speaks highly of you and you seem quite protective of her. Your influence is much appreciated, for even the most independent creature needs a voice of reason."

This flattery pleased her and she asked the question he had been guiding her toward since their first meeting in which he had introduced himself as a "friend" of Miss Seward's. "What _are_ your intentions toward Miss Seward?"

"I intend to marry her and take her abroad but she is hesitant because of her father. I am sure you understand."

Yes, she did. Lucy often spoke of her father in concerned tones, for it was apparent she cared for him and worried he would be too alone without her. Mrs. Leeway looked on it as an indication of wisdom on the part of her young tenant but in that moment regarded it as an unneeded obstruction to what she considered a prudent match. She was old-fashioned and did not approve of young women dashing about society on their own, studying a man's profession. What she saw of the Count she liked, for he was steadfast and mild-mannered, the sort of man to indulge his wife's whims but not allow them to go too far. He might tame Lucy Seward and put the wild notions out of her head. Furthermore, he was wealthy and she could not see any impediment. Then and there, Mrs. Leeway determined that he should marry her. Dracula could sense her mind being made up, for her expression toward him altered and she leaned forward to rest her hand on his.

"Women are always concerned for their fathers but such whims are overcome in time." Her hand lingered longer than it needed to and he felt her instinctive desire for him, something all women experienced when near to him. It was an immortal fascination, a yearning deep within them that surfaced with his presence. Beneath the tranquil exterior and absolute calm, under the corset and stays and rigidity drummed into her from childhood, Mrs. Leeway was no different from any other woman, a repressed, unhappy female condemned to live in a world of men. She doubted and distrusted and hated most of them, for she had to, both because of her own past experiences and the good of her girls. There was something deep within her that called out to him and that he answered, almost irrationally, a connection between them that allowed her to feel young again.

The front door opened and closed and the spell was broken. Lucy rounded the corner undoing her coat and was surprised to find him there. Dracula arose gracefully from the settee with the housekeeper in rapid succession, blushing in spite of the innocence of their encounter. "There you are, I wondered what kept you," he said and Lucy felt warmth spread through her at the caress of his voice. Her breath caught in her throat and she looked at Mrs. Leeway, who seemed not to know what to do with herself. Most men who came to call any on any of her girls were forced to endure her presence in the corner during their interview, but Dracula was not about to have that. "If you will excuse us, Mrs. Leeway," he said, "I won't keep her but a moment."

"Of course," said the older woman compliantly, and left, closing the door behind her. Lucy let him approach, aroused at the touch of his lips against her cheek. Dracula's fingers unfastened the buttons on her coat and slid his hands beneath the garment as he kissed her, without the ravishing enthusiasm of Jonathan but a succession of romantic caresses that left her giddy. "You should not have come here," she said breathlessly in-between them, allowing him to back her against the door. His nearness was overpowering and she felt the same rush of emotion he had arisen in her many months earlier, when he had taken her into his arms in the gardens of Carfax.

"I could not wait to see you. You should write to your father. Tell him what we agreed. Jonathan has gone north and if my solicitor is as good as he professes, he won't be back for weeks." Dracula had arranged to bid on the same estate at just enough of a price difference to keep Lord Darling interested but prolong the proceedings. His hands lingered beneath her coat at the narrowness of her waist and he kissed her ear, allowing her to melt against him. It was too dangerous to more than hold her, to experience more than fleeting instances of passion, for he would turn her if it went too far and he could not until they were safe in his castle in Transylvania. Lucy had to remain human for the time being, to belay suspicion. It was maddening but he pulled away from her, retreating a short distance as she followed, somewhat dazed.

"Will you come to the opera with me tomorrow night?" she asked. They had begun to make infrequent public appearances together to cast an illusion of courtship. He looked so young no one questioned it, although from the jealousy in the eyes of her classmates, she sensed more than one of them resented his immaculate appearance and flawless manners. To her disappointment, he shook his head. "I'm afraid there are a few things I must attend to, but if you wish to go, I will take you before our departure."

She did not ask him what was more important than the opera for she knew he would not answer. It was an unspoken agreement between them that she not interfere too much in his life, while he was permitted to invade her own. Around him, Lucy had no desire for independence. It was as if nothing else existed. Her studies were an illusion for others to conceal her genuine purpose in being among them, to enlist them as her witnesses. Her hesitation faded as he looked at her, replaced with reassurances that this would work.

It _had _to work. She could not bear to lose him again.


	24. Chapter 24

Immortals did not contend with life in the same manner humans did, and among the greater attributes of Dracula's long history of survival was his ability to manipulate his surroundings and circumstances to suit his purpose. It was not that he was unwilling to surrender his thoughts of revenge to the woman who dominated his heart, but that he could not condone such behavior in a rival. Most of the men who had gone against him had perished in unpleasant ways but all of them were too swift for Jonathan Harker. The Count had spent long hours considering his fate and determined that it was a game in which his adversary might win his liberty through cunning, intervention, or pure chance. He would grant him that at least, so his death would not be on the Count's severely stained conscience.

His departure from the boardinghouse and subsequently from Lucy was made without any indication of his intended destination, reassuring her that he would soon return and all would be made ready for their departure. Lucy was to remain behind for the time being and continue to plant ideas of romance in the minds of her friends, to convince them she might run off to marry a charming foreigner. None of the women would blame her, for all who encountered him looked on with adoration and a jealousy he took care never to exploit. Mrs. Leeway was the final pawn in his game, for she was in frequent correspondence with Dr. Seward; she would impress on him the suitable nature of his daughter's suitor. Dr. Seward, eager to believe Lucy had overcome the recent past, would encourage his daughter to follow her heart and not protest her departure from London. He might even show relief.

Darkened streets concealed his presence as he went home, the folds of his cloak fluttering as he unlatched the gate and entered the overgrown gardens. Removing the correspondence Jonathan had sent from an inner pocket, he lit one of the candles and held the envelope up to it. The writing was apparent through the thinness of the paper and it appeared innocent enough. Lowering it to the desk, Dracula scrawled "Return unopened" on it and glanced up as a thin shadow traveled across the floor. The young woman who came to him faithfully each night stood there awaiting his orders. She wanted to be with him, to become what he was; like Mina she would never intentionally betray him, so he handed her the envelope. "Take this to the address on the back and put it through the mail slot," he instructed as he took her to the side door. Tremors of moonlight shifted beyond his perceptions as he looked down at her. "I will be gone for a week, so you need not return."

An obvious pout overcame her plump red lips but she did not argue, her hand lingering on his arm until she went down the narrow stairs and vanished the way she had come. Dracula thought how child-like she was, how innocent of the darkness in the world and the stains of her profession. He longed to save her but could not as he put out the candle and went out into the night. It was a long journey to the north and would take two days. He went until an hour before dawn in a public coach and alighted at a crossroads to take shelter in bat form in the hayloft of a nearby barn. No one disturbed him and when evening came he continued his journey as a wolf. Tendrils of light crept across the sky as he came to the small town nearby the estate Jonathan Harker intended to purchase. It was a lumbering establishment and he took refuge in its shelter. Weakened by such a distance without sustenance, he prowled in its depths until another day passed and went forth to find nourishment. It appeared in the form of a simple peasant girl and he took only enough to ensure his strength but not harm her, sending her home in a trance of contentment that concealed the two neat impressions against her throat.

Jonathan was not difficult to find. He had not changed in the long months since their confrontation and Dracula regarded him emotionlessly, as one might an insect rather than a human being. The solicitor had formed habits in the country that were most useful, among them a habit of walking after supper. He spent an hour conversing with the innkeeper's daughter, attempting to impress her with his legal skills, then went out to walk off the excess of food she had given him. Kicking pebbles out of the way, he stuck to the road and followed it a short distance around the town, past the church and crypts, and back to the inn. Dracula followed him for two nights. Not once did the attorney catch sight of him, but once or twice he paused and listened, as if aware he was being watched.

Back in his room, he latched the window, for the night made him uneasy. The dancing shadows produced by his candle sent shivers up his spine as he sat down to go over his papers and went to bed. It took hours for him to sleep and his breathing deepened under the Count's influence as he entered through the window, effortlessly unlocking it and stepping down into the small space. The voluminous folds of his cloak moved around him as Dracula stood over his rival, staring at him with open contempt. "Well, Mr. Harker," he said, "we shall see if you are as formidable without the professor at your side."

Moving past on silent feet, he stepped into the corridor and followed his instincts to a doorway several levels down and one passage over. The innkeeper's daughter rested against the pillow, her golden hair spread around her. Sensing him in her sleep, her mouth parted and she shifted slightly, turning her head to allow her pale throat to fall into moonlight. No resistance was given, her hand entwining in his hair as she relaxed in his embrace. When he was content, he pulled back to look at her and she clung to him.

"Will you do what I ask of you?"

"Yes," she answered, breathily. She would remember nothing in the morning apart from his hypnotic influence. He rested her gently against the pillow once more, removing her reluctant fingers from his shoulders as he arose. The inn was quiet in his departure, the town more so, blissfully ignorant of the immortal that moved among them. His feet carried him to the churchyard and skirting the broken crosses that littered the front, he followed a narrow avenue around to the back where a number of crypts resided. Religious icons and emblems were infrequent here and the ground had long since been disturbed so it was no longer sacred. Dracula looked about him and went to work. Before dawn appeared in the distance he accomplished his task and returned to his place of concealment, a malicious smile crossing his lips as he reposed in the gloom and closed his eyes.

They opened again long before twilight at the sound of a footstep in the manor above and moving quickly, he vanished before they came down the stairs, Jonathan Harker, his own solicitor, and that of the family estate, their arguing punctuating the silence with irritated comments. His attorney was doing well in frustrating Jonathan, but Harker was growing tired of the debate and insisted on a resolution. Dracula had warned his illustrious friend against showing too much interest with financial backing so Jonathan could not raise the capital enough to emerge victorious. This fact perturbed him and from the rafters, Dracula could see the annoyance on his face. Passing his hand over his mustache, the solicitor glanced around him and realized where they were. The gloominess of the lower rooms and their closeness in appearance to Carfax had a profound effect on him, for he well remembered an adventure in a similar space and absently touched the scar on his cheek. "Please, gentlemen, let us come to an agreement, lest all of us be forced to tarry much longer in this dreadful town."

"I was under the impression you did not mind it, Harker, considering your friendship with the innkeeper's daughter." Dracula's attorney, who was young and equally pompous, smirked as he shut his ledger. Their third companion, a much older and wiser man, looked over his spectacles at them and found Harker flushing.

"No, no, it's not like that at all… it's not… I'm… I have someone, in London."

The nearest lawyer lifted his brows and though he did not speak, his disbelief was evident. Glancing from one man to the other and not much liking what he saw, Jonathan said testily, "Shall we not continue in our debates, gentlemen?" He indicated the near doorway and all passed through it.

Dracula knew precisely where his attorney would be and slipped through the shadows to meet him that night. Their introduction in London had been in person and the man recognized him on sight, rising from his chair in haste and nearly overturning his wine glass in the process. "Count, I did not expect you," he said, offering him a seat. Dracula sank into it and regarded him pleasantly, making inquiries about his health and travels, whether or not he was making progress, and his impression of the other buyer. The attorney answered everything well, revealing enthusiasm for the task in the spark behind his demure brown eyes. Dracula allowed him to speak at length and after a prolonged silence said, "I have decided not to purchase the property after all, now that I have seen it. I am of course more than grateful for your assistance and you will be well paid for your services."

Though his disappointment was evident, the solicitor was not troubled so much at the lack of profit as by the knowledge that Harker would win. Dracula sensed the direction of his mood and repressed his amusement, finding it made the young man more likable. Discerning the happiness such consent would give him, he said, "Informing the others can wait until the morning. Let us give Mr. Harker one more night of uncertainty, shall we?"

Rising and placing his hand on the man's shoulder, Dracula continued on his way, leaving a bemused solicitor in his wake. It was now dark enough to venture into the open but he took care to keep away from lighted windows, concentrating on the innkeeper's daughter. She listened to him and left by the side door of the establishment, shyly coming to meet him. Her pulse increased at his nearness and he leaned in to whisper to her, his hands barely resting on her shoulders.

When Jonathan emerged for his customary walk, she was waiting for him. She liked him and it was easy to keep up a conversation, gaining his trust and belaying his suspicions as they turned toward the churchyard. Rather than continuing on the main road, she walked along the overgrown lane. Jonathan hesitated, not liking the shadows. "Come on," she said laughingly, "are you afraid of the dark?" Then she turned and darted away from him. He called to her and no one answered, his voice echoing ominously in the silence. Concerned, he pressed forward, narrowly avoiding tripping over a broken headstone. She appeared out of the gloom and reached for him. Her lips turned to his and he weakened beneath their influence, his resolve softening as she kissed him. It felt as if he was sinking into nothingness and in the haze that followed he could not fight. She pulled him into the nearest crypt, turning to kiss him again at the foot of the stairs. Torches burned all around them and he pondered at the sinister beauty of the place with its marbled coffins and dust. Leaves blown in by centuries of abandonment crunched beneath his feet as he turned to read the names inscribed there.

"Relatives of yours?" he asked.

"No, I don't know anything about them," she said carelessly, and dropped his hand.

Jonathan kept her in sight as she wandered around the crypt, as curious as he was toward the inscriptions. One of them was in Latin and he leaned forward to attempt to translate it. " '… _the dead reveal the lives of the living_…' no, that's not it. '_The dead_…' "

" '… _reveal the _power _of the living_,' " supplied a masculine voice he had prayed never to hear again. Jonathan could not move. His eyes slid toward the source but there was nothing there apart from flickering flames. He glanced around and found himself alone, for the girl had vanished. Feeling rising panic in his veins he darted for the narrow stairs and to his horror heard the stone slide into place, shutting out the night air. All the torches went out, plunging him into darkness. The walls were too thick to hear his cries for help, panic overcoming him as he pushed against the slab without result. Dracula could sense every emotion, every fear, and reveled in it as he stood atop the crypt in the moonlight, the wind caressing his cape and teasing the dark tendrils of his hair. "Well, Jonathan Harker, it seems you are nothing without the professor after all."

The innkeeper's daughter waited for him at the end of the lane. Dracula knew she would remember nothing and sent her home. It would not take them long to wonder where Jonathan had gone and it was up to fate whether or not he would be found before it was too late. He had kept his promise to Lucy in not killing him, but if his death was a consequence of this, a meager form of justice prevailed. It was a long journey to London, his thoughts filled with satisfaction in his actions. It was not merely that he detested his rival but desired to subdue him; he could not allow him to go unpunished, for it was not in his nature to be forgiving. Van Helsing had paid with his life and it did not seem fair that the older, more calculating and better rival should perish while his youthful, worthless protégée might escape unscathed. It pleased him that Lucy had ended things between them, that their violent quarrel had been so final, so absolute in its particulars, almost as if it had been of his design… but it hadn't been. Lucy had come around of her own accord, for months pondering his existence or lack thereof and its potential repercussions. He brought out something powerful in her: a supernatural force that once unleashed would make her more formidable than any of his previous brides. It was Lucy; it had always been Lucy. He had searched for her over the centuries without realizing it, waited for her, felt her coming and gone in pursuit of her. What had made him come to Whitby but her, though he had not known it at the time; it was not boredom that had encouraged him to leave his safe, comfortable, solitary existence in Transylvania. He was undisturbed there, respected, feared, but he had abandoned it for England. She had been calling to him all along, from childhood, her song growing stronger as she matured and discovered her voice.

_Lucy_.

Her name filled him with an inexplicable happiness he had not felt since his time as a mortal. He indulged in it as he returned to her, covering an immense amount of ground before dawn forced him into hiding. There were no buildings nearby so he took refuge in the hollow trunk of a tree and there remained through the hours of daylight, half-asleep and listening to the world around him, a world of constant motion and plight, a world Lucy would soon abandon for the coolness and security of night. It came again and he soared on the skies, the wind caressing the folds of his cloak and teasing wisps of his hair on the outskirts of London as he dropped to the ground and changed. He found a mortal and drank, leaving the man weak but unharmed, knowing he would remember nothing within a few minutes, and then went to her.

It was the early hours of the morning and nothing moved in the house. Mrs. Leeway had long since put out the lights and gone to bed. He sensed Lucy, her restlessness, the turn of her head against the pillow, but was aware of the others as well, the beating of their hearts, their dreams, even the soft sound of the cat as it crossed the landing and slunk away as he ascended the stairs. Without touching the knob, the door of Lucy's room admitted him. He was silent as he crossed the floor, not intending to wake her, but his presence caused her to stir. Lucy felt a rush of pleasure when she saw him and opened her arms to him, resting her head against his chest. "I hoped you would come back to me soon," she whispered.

Curling her fingers in his lapels, Lucy slept and he did not leave until the last possible moment, escaping before Mrs. Leeway's foot fell in the hall as she attended her morning rounds. Dracula made a social call that evening and found her glad to see him. She had written to Dr. Seward and a change had come over him, for his daughter was no longer reluctant toward the notion of marriage. Or so it seemed to the housekeeper, who knew nothing of their plans. It was time to announce the engagement and it was done to general approval of Lucy's friends.

"I suppose you will give up school now to be a baroness," one of the girls remarked, for that is what she believed the Count to be, a European baron. It suited him and the name he had given was subtle enough no one would suspect the truth.

Her face fell for a moment; in all her planning she had not considered this would alter her life forever. She was more than willing to become immortal, to leave her family and friends behind, but in that instant the suffragette in her soul cried out and it was all her heart could do not to listen to it. But as Lucy looked at her intended, all doubts faded from her mind. Her former pursuits were far less intriguing than what he offered her and he had promised she would not be isolated in the castle. For a time, her instincts would be primal and difficult to control but soon she would learn to cope with them and move about the surrounding villages without arousing suspicion. There was much in need of her attention, from the gypsies who served his household faithfully to the children at the orphanage that badly needed financial support. Lucy would not be an attorney, but her influence and power would be limitless. He would give it to her and allow her to do with it what she wished. It would be a momentary surrender followed by greatness she could have never achieved in a litigation office.

It was not two days before her father wrote of his intention to visit her in London and Lucy made arrangements to meet him at a local establishment. He wanted to be introduced to the young man that had generated in her so much enthusiasm for marriage. Jonathan had never convinced her of it and his name was all but forgotten as the plump older man crossed the threshold and saw her sitting at a small round corner table. "Papa," she said warmly, rising to kiss him. She was in good health and happier than he had seen her in months, her slender form garbed in black. "I am so glad you have come. He will join us later but I thought we should eat together first."

She locked hands with him and squeezed his fingers warmly before lifting her menu. Dr. Seward was astounded by the change in her but did not address it as he examined the list of food and ordered. He'd had a letter from Jonathan that morning and was hesitant to bring it up but had to know the truth and mentioned their continued correspondence. "Oh," she replied, folding her napkin and resting it across her lap. There was an emotional distance in her tone, guarded, as if she did not want him to know the truth of her feelings. "How is Jonathan?"

"He had the most horrible fright the other evening. Went out walking and got locked in a crypt. He swears it was done intentionally." Seward did not mention the urgency of the message, the underlining hint of danger. Jonathan feared the vampire had arisen from its grave to seek revenge. He had not said as much but it was implied and it was partly this which brought Dr. Seward to London, an attempt to reassure his concerns that his daughter was safe. Lucy was beautiful, the neckline of her gown curvaceous and revealing the unmarred skin of her throat, reassuring him Dracula had not returned.

Pretending this news did not disconcert her as much as it did, Lucy said lightly, "Jonathan always was one for wandering into places he could not get out of. Once in the park he went into some bushes to retrieve a ball a child had lost and it took half an hour and two policemen to get him out." The memory curved her lips into a smile and she offered her father a cup of tea.

It was a pleasant afternoon filled with general conversation that soon turned to her future husband. Dr. Seward was relieved that she intended to settle down rather than join the workforce, for secretly he had never approved, and wondered at the man who had succeeded in changing her mind. Lucy told him they had met at the opera. He was a foreigner but very well educated and immaculate in his manners. He arrived at half past two and the doctor found him likable at once, for he was tall and distinguished, appropriately affectionate in his conversation but also distant in his mannerisms. He was an actor well-versed in his medium and highly paid for an hour's convincing performance, and within that short amount of time managed to charm the doctor so completely that he was quite beside himself with happiness when at last the "baron" took his leave.

The needs of the asylum prevented the doctor from staying in town more than one night and he spent the evening with his daughter, the baron having excused his presence in favor of handling last-minute business affairs. Mrs. Leeway offered him the use of a room (quite out of custom for her) and once the young women had all retired, they spoke at length of their mutual affection for the baron and how positive an influence he would have on Lucy. The doctor went home prepared to tell Mrs. Galloway and Swales that his daughter had made a good match and to write Jonathan that he had nothing to fear, for Lucy was quite safe.

Lucy accompanied him to the station and waved as the train pulled away from the platform. He had been told their elopement was soon and she would write him from her new residence overseas. Both of them experienced a sadness in this parting, for it was unlikely they would see one another again, but once the initial pangs subsided he pulled down the shade in his compartment, removed a little brown bag of peppermints from an inside pocket, and popped one into his mouth. "Lucy, a baroness," he said with amusement, and shook his head.

Better a baroness than a barrister.


	25. Chapter 25

The journey to Transylvania was long and tiresome, particularly as they were not allowed to travel by customary methods. Lucy had bid her friends farewell, mailed the last of her correspondence, locked her trunks, and been seen off at the station. From there she disembarked on the coast and boarded a ship. Dracula did not accompany her and his crate was among her luggage. No one thought anything of her traveling alone, for she was quiet and self-contained. She saw him at night when the shipmen had gone to bed, for he would come to her for an hour or so before returning to his resting-place. Unaccustomed to the roll and pitch of the ship, she spent the first two days miserable with seasickness before the waves calmed and allowed her an interval of good humor.

Seeing the coast of a distant land returned excitement to her and her pulse increased when they docked. It was too dangerous for them to travel by public coach so he had arranged for a private one that would take them as far as the border; from there, they would transfer to his own carriage and continue the rest of the way at leisure. The weather favored them, for it was stormy and gray and there was no need to pull the privacy screens. Lucy watched as miles of open countryside and wooded lanes fell away behind them, her companion pale but complacent at her side. The horses kept a good pace and it was early evening when they were forced to stop at an inn. She was so weary that after a good meal, she fell asleep directly. When he shook her awake before dawn to resume their travels she found his color improved.

Across the border from Transylvania, he abandoned her to continue the rest of the way on her own, intending to meet her at the castle. No longer hampered by the need to travel in darkness, Lucy enjoyed her last few days as a mortal. She even went to the small nearby church to pray for forgiveness over what she was about to do. His coach was smaller but more luxurious than the rented one, her luggage piled on top as the horses kept a steady pace. The trees in this part of Europe were unusual, their branches entangled and entwined in such remarkable ways that she was transfixed by them. It was in the heart of the wood that the carriage was stopped by murmuring voices and she started as the door twisted open. Bold enough to make inquiries as to who halted their progress, Lucy appeared and saw a small band of gypsies. The nearest fell back from her as if struck and all of them drew in their breath in mutual regard. Ancient superstitions and knowledge allowed them to see she was no mere mortal, for there was a peculiarity about her reflected in the unusual angles of her countenance.

"Why have you stopped the carriage?" she demanded.

There was a rush of hasty explanations in Romanian. Grimy fingers pointed to the horses and to her, motions that she should not get out but stay where she was. One of them came to shut the door again, muttering under her breath and crossing herself frantically with a rosary, which she then pressed into Lucy's hand. It felt hot against her skin and Lucy held it out to her. "No, I don't want it," she said.

The woman babbled further and pushed it at her again. Lucy persistently shook her head. "_I don't want it!_"

One of the others came forward to pull the old woman back and the driver snapped the reins, the carriage starting forward with a jolt and leaving the small band of misfits behind. Lucy threw the rosary at them and turned her attention forward. It was hours before the turrets of the castle appeared and her heart quickened at the sight, magnificent against the cliffs. The road wound steeply toward it and the valley unfolded beneath, the view across the surrounding countryside breathtaking. It was nearly twilight when they pulled into the inner courtyard and the horses stopped, torches burning along the high walls. It was medieval and ancient; its mysteries open before her as she stepped out onto the stone steps and ascended to the massive oak door. It swung open without her influence and he stood waiting for her. The driver and carriage vanished in the direction of the stables and he held out one hand, invitingly. "Come," he said.

Lucy stepped over the threshold and the door closed behind her. It was a beautiful place, impeccable, nothing like the shambles of Carfax, which had been merely a temporary residence. The castle was filled with luxurious furniture and rich oil paintings, woven tapestries and suits of armor. The entirety of his family history was in the series of rooms, in the ease with which he navigated them, in the gentleness of his hands as he removed her cloak and dropped it over the back of the nearest chair. "Will you tour your new home?" he asked, softly, desiring her to experience all of it, to see it in the fading light, to explore the enormous house that would soon become part of her domain. There were extensive grounds and villages too, but for now only the castle was important. He sensed how intimidated she was by it, how in awe, but also that her spirit was awakening with enthusiasm.

"Is this you?" she asked as they came to a painting along the hall, where a tremendously good impression of him hung. He was younger but she could recognize him in the fluid strokes of the painter. His appearance was different, his garments reflecting a much earlier time.

"Yes," he said with the faintest of smiles, "many years ago."

It was before he had become a vampire and seen the evils of the world; before he had become a part of them. Lucy stared at it with shining eyes and followed him up the wide flight of stairs, her hand gliding along the curved banister, not knowing where to look first, there was so much about the house to intrigue her. He paused before a set of double doors and opened them. Candles burst into flames as she entered, appearing at his silent command. It was the most beautiful room she had ever seen, elaborate and luxurious with a great canopy over the massive bed and a glorious gothic fireplace. Her trunks were there and the verandah extended over the edge of the cliff. The light was now no more than a frail haze beyond the mountains and she turned to find the Count in the arch behind her. "The draperies can be pulled during the day," he remarked. He was polite, careful to keep his distance, but she did not desire him to stay away any longer. "Would you care to see the rest of the house?"

"No."

Dracula stepped out onto the verandah and caressed the side of her face before lowering her lips to his. Lucy pulled him after her into the room, into an enchanted existence of shadows, and he took her in his arms. If he carried her to the bed, she did not know it, only his ferocious passion, the sensation of his lips wandering across her throat, the heaviness of his form pressing against hers as his nimble fingers unlaced her garments. Her head fell against the coverlet, dark hair spilling out around her bare shoulders as he kissed her skin, caressing upwards until he came to her throat. His lips lingered and sought hers, feeling the furious pace of her heart as she clung to him. The candles went out in succession until there was only the heaviness of her breathing and the glow of moonlight. Lucy turned her face away and felt his mouth caress her throat, but as his teeth sank into her, trembled and gasped. He caught her wrist as it came forward and pressed it back into the bedclothes. Breathlessly, she relaxed beneath him and he released her hand, allowing her to entwine her fingers in his thick dark hair, falling to his shoulders as contentment flooded through her. When he lifted his head to kiss her, she tasted blood on his lips but did not draw away, unresisting as he offered her his life-force. This time the transformation was immediate, for he allowed her to drink until her immortal hunger was quenched.

It was strange to die and know you were dead, but she sensed it in the calming of her body, the slowing of her heart, the coldness of her hands. He leaned down to kiss her once more and sat beside her as the hours passed, wave after wave of pain overcoming her as her human life gave in to the darkness threatening to consume it. True death came in the hours before dawn and she breathed her last. Dracula came to lean over her, his hand resting on her brow as he waited. Tangled curls shifted into place, whiteness overcoming her skin, her imperfections fading as the transformation took place.

In time, Lucy slowly opened her eyes, focusing on the distance and shifting to the figure standing over her in the moonlight. It was remarkable what she felt, the emotions she experienced, the knowledge that entered her soul. Her gaze shifted to the nearest candle and it burst into flame at her command. She sat up, turning her attention to his companion as he sat down facing her, not touching her but allowing her to examine him with new fascination. Rather than speak, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Even the kiss was different, more erotic and powerful. Light traveled down the contours of her throat, no longer bearing the scars of his fangs, and illuminated the fierceness in her eyes. Dracula had never found her more beautiful but moved away, purposefully, indicating the darkness beyond the verandah.

"Would you like to see our home?" he asked in his velvety voice, romantic but full of anticipation.

He had waited to show her his domain for centuries.

Placing one bare foot on the floor, Lucy buttoned the front of her gown. "Yes," she said.

She wanted to see _everything_.

He held out his hand.

Her fingers fell into it and he put his other hand at her waist, pressing a kiss to her temple.

There was a swift movement and then nothing in the room apart from the movement of the curtains, ruffled by the breeze.

And the single candle flickered and went out in a puff of smoke.


End file.
